Forced Mutations 2
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Hank and Amanda continue their relationship through trials and tribulations, and finally get married. FINISHED. Read, review please!
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1: Accepting

                "I'm not going."

                Hank sighed and sat down on the end of his bed. "Why not?" He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

                It had been almost two months since Amanda had moved into the mansion. The X-Men had done their best to make her feel welcome, but she still remained for the most part shy and introverted. She spent most of her time down in the lab, working with her virus, trying to find a way to reverse the transformation, but so far hadn't had much luck.

                They had both just been invited to the annual genetics conference in Bern. Xavier, Hank, and Amanda had gotten their invitations through the mail just that morning. Hank had taken Amanda upstairs to pack.

                Now here she was refusing to go.

                "I am not going." Amanda kicked her suitcase back under the bed, then blocked Hank's attempts to pull it back out. "Practically everyone there knows me. They'll stare at these…things…" she flexed her iridescent wings, "…and they'll wonder what happened. I don't feel like trying to explain what happened." She laughed bitterly. "What would I tell them anyway? 'A super powered mutant named Magneto injected me with my own reovirus and turned me into a ugly freak?" She shook her head. "I'm not ready to face all those people yet."

                Hank stood and walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms and hugging her gently. "Yes, they'll stare. Yes, they will talk. But Amanda, I do not believe anyone will think you ugly. If you could just see yourself…"

                "Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that." Amanda crossed the room and stood in front of the mirror on the wall. "You think I'm pretty. I don't think so. Hank, look at me! I look like a rag doll that someone ran through the wash and bleached all the color out of! Look…look…" she fumbled with the tie holding her cottony white hair back in a tight, severe bun, and shook out the long curls. "Look at this. I used to love my hair. Now it's all silver, like an ugly old woman, and I hate it!" She closed her eyes briefly, as if the sight of herself made her ill, and quickly bundled her hair back into its bun. "And these damned ugly useless things sprouting from my back are just a nuisance. They don't serve any purpose that I can see." She reached out and turned the hanging mirror around to face the wall. "And I'm so skinny I look anorexic…"

                "You would not appear so if you consumed meals regularly," Hank pointed out. "You lost a lot of mass during your transformation, and you have not yet gained it back yet because you don't eat."

                "I can't eat!" Amanda yelled, clenching her fist. "Just thinking about the way I look is making me feel sick!" She stormed out of the room and almost ran into Xavier out in the hallway. With a muttered "Excuse me," she brushed past him and vanished down the stairs. Probably on her way downstairs to the labs, Hank surmised.

                Xavier sighed and watched her go. "She still hasn't accepted the changes?"

                Hank sighed too, and folded another shirt into his own suitcase. "No. Charles, I feel so helpless. There is nothing I can do, is there?"

                Xavier shook his head. "Just be there. She is going through much the same thing you did; and if I recall it was months before you would set foot outside the labs. You went through all the same things she is currently going through; just give her time, and be patient. She can't see herself right now the way we all see her; she can't see the beauty in her physical changes, because she still has the image in her mind of what she used to look like. Once that image fades a little, she may begin to see herself differently."

                "I hope so." Hank zipped up his suitcase and set it down on the floor. Then he picked up Amanda's suitcase and carried it through the door that adjoined his and Amanda's room, dropped the suitcase on the floor and pushed it under the bed, and walked back out, closing the door gently behind him.

                Xavier studied the door thoughtfully. "Is she still having nightmares?"

                Hank nodded and sat down on the end of his bed. "I would not call them nightmares anymore, though. They are more like bad dreams of the memory of the pain she experienced when she went through the transformation, not nearly as bad now as it was formerly, though. I still wake up some nights to hear her crying." He shook his head as if to clear the vision from his mind. Still, it persisted.

                They had started soon after Amanda had moved into the room. Hank had been dryly amused when he discovered Charles had put her in the room adjacent to his, but the amusement had evaporated when she began having bad dreams. He had woken up one night to hear her sobbing in her room, and he had gone to her. She had been curled up in a tight, miserable ball in the middle of her bed, crying in her sleep. He had slipped into the bed next to her--thanking Charles's wisdom in selecting a bed for her that would accommodate his weight as well—and held her. She had curled up against him, tight to his side, and cried herself back to sleep. It had happened night after night. Charles had known about the bad dreams; how, Hank didn't know, though he rather suspected the X-Men's founder had been 'listening' telepathically…and one afternoon when he returned from a shopping trip to purchase some supplies for his lab, he found that Xavier had a door installed in the wall between his and Amanda's room. It made going to her room at night much easier and more discreet than going through the hall. Although, from the smiles Jean gave him whenever she saw the two of them together, everyone knew about him and Amanda's unique relationship.

                "She will be fine," Xavier said, smiling at Hank. "Just give her time."

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Amanda ran down the halls to the labs. She understood what Hank was saying; but she just couldn't see herself that way. She couldn't see herself as pretty.

                She'd never considered herself pretty. Her eyes had been an uncertain grayish-blue, a neither-here-nor-there color, her skin was too pale, and her lips were too wide. The only thing she had liked about herself was her hair.

                Now that was gone too. She looked like a washed-out, faded, bleached version of her old self, and she hated it. She had tentatively considered buying dye and dying her hair the color it had been, but had decided that the color would be too sudden, too startling, against her white skin. She had tried using cosmetics like concealer and foundation and stage makeup to cover the pale skin, but when she really had tried it, she had come away looking unnatural. 

                She misjudged the angle around the doorframe to the labs and her lefty wing slammed into the wall. She bit her lip as she regained her balance and reached over her shoulder to rub the aching spot.

                She had found out that the wings, though for the most part an iridescent crystal color, did have a few nerves running down its white veining. It hurt when she bumped them; it hurt when she rolled over at night and accidentally crushed them. She could even feel the heat from her showers on them; she had discovered that they were waterproof, and she could bathe and shower without having to worry about them becoming wet. That had been an immense relief.

                She had wondered whether they were just decorative or if they were functional as well; but she had been reluctant to try it mostly because she was afraid of heights, and also partly because she was determined to find a way to reverse her transformation and she didn't want to get used to using them. She had seen Hank's friend Warren jump out of his third-floor window with his wings outspread and fall a dizzying few feet before he got enough momentum and air under his white feathered wings to pull out of the freefall. She had no intention of flying off the top of the mansion like that.

                She closed the door to the labs and buried herself back in her work, and didn't emerge until some time later. Lunch was being served, she could tell as she passed the kitchen and the informal dining hall, but she turned away from the sound of silverware and dishes clattering. She didn't want them to stare at her; she would get something to eat later. She climbed the stairs to her own room, closed the door, and pulled her sewing basket out from under the bed.

                She was in the middle of sewing a zipper into the back seam of her shirt when the door opened, and Jean stuck her head inside. Amanda bit her lip, and forced a smile to her face; she liked Jean as a person, but had to fight to suppress a surge of envy every time she saw the redhead. Jean was so perfect. Too damn perfect. She had the face, height and figure of a supermodel, the hair to go with it, and an air of self-confidence that Amanda wished she had, and to top it all off she had what Amanda had always secretly wished for; the perfect chest. Amanda was a modest B; Jean had to be a C or D. And to top it all off, she had a mutation that didn't affect the way she looked. Jean was just too damn perfect. Envy sharpened Amanda's voice as she said, "Is something wrong?"

                "Oh, no, I was putting my things in the dryer and I found this still in it. I think you left it in there by accident yesterday." Jean came in and handed Amanda her green sweater. "I know I ask this all the time, but are you sure you won't come down and join us girls in the laundry room? We'd love to have your company."

                "Thank you for the sweater, but no, thank you, Jean." Amanda got up and opened her drawer, folding her sweater and tucking it into its drawer. 

                Jean sat down on the end of the bed. She knew why Amanda didn't like her; Amanda thought she was too perfect. Jean suddenly wished, impulsively, that their powers were switched. Then Amanda would be able to see what she looked like to others, and maybe she wouldn't feel so upset about her appearance. "Amanda," she said, unsure how to broach the subject, and deciding to start the conversation with something different, "Are you sure you won't go to the conference with Hank and Charles?"

                "Yes," Amanda said firmly, not looking at Jena. "Yes, I'm sure."

                "Why?"

                Amanda stared at the ceiling for a moment. "I explained to Hank, I don't feel like trying to explain to everyone why I suddenly have these damn wings," she said. "Everyone's used to seeing me the way I used to be. How do I explain why I suddenly look like an ugly freak?" Jean winced at the anger in her voice.

                "You're not ugly," she tried to say, but Amanda whirled on her and cut her off. 

                "It's easy to be patronizing when you're the perfect one, huh? Perfect face, perfect figure, perfect hair, perfect attitude, everything is nicely in place. I've heard of the Greys, your parents. Everything is so perfect for you, living here, everything you want, married to a man who worships the ground you walk on." Amanda bit her lip. She hadn't meant to lose her temper like that.

                "I'm not perfect," Jean said to her. "Far from it. I'm human, just like you. And if you could only see yourself, Amanda, the way we see you, maybe you'd agree. Look at you, Amanda. You've got hair like a cloud on a summer day. You have skin like the finest china, and such a slim figure you could pass for a supermodel. And the wings! I can levitate myself in the air using my telekinesis, but I'll never fly like I think you can with those wings And have you noticed how pretty they are? Crystal clear, with rainbows on them. Look." Jean reached over to the dresser and picked up the gift Hank had bought for Amanda; a crystal butterfly on a back-lit base. 

"Hank chose this because this is what you look like. Like a crystal butterfly. When the sun hits your skin, you seem to glow just like this butterfly. And when the sun hits your wings, they turn into sheets of rainbow fire. You're so lucky to look so beautiful," Jean put down the butterfly. "And the best thing of all is that you don't have any pesky psionic mutations to get in your way. You're the same inside as you were before; nothing changed, except for your appearance." Jean sighed. "Amanda, I was twelve when my telepathy manifested. And it happened because a car hit my best friend and killed her, and I felt her die in my arms. It sent me into a catatonic state for two years, and when I 'woke' up, I was in an asylum with a whole bunch of other crazy people. I was lucky Charles sensed that I was a mutant and brought me here, or I would eventually have gone crazy myself. 

"Amanda, all you have to deal with is the way you look outside; you don't have to deal with the weight of thousands of minds pounding down on yours. And people who are your friends, real friends, won't look at your exterior. Hank doesn't see a mutant when he looks at you; he doesn't care that you don't look the same. He loves you for who you are on the inside, just like you love him even though he's big, blue, and furry. And in the end, Amanda, that's all that matters." Jean got up. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, Hank and Charles are about to leave for the airport to catch Charles' private plane, so if you want to say goodbye, you'd better come down."

Amanda sat for a moment, hesitant and undecided. The sound of voices in the downstairs hall filtered up to where she sat, and she suddenly realized Hank would be gone for two weeks. Two weeks without seeing him!

Hank was loading Charles' regular wheelchair into the back of the van that would take them to the airport when he saw Amanda appear on the steps leading up to the front door. She saw him, and walked out from the shadow of the doorway into the sunlight of the front drive, and he caught his breath. She was so beautiful. Her wings waved gently in the warm April breeze as she ran down the steps toward him. "Hank!"

He hugged her as she ran to him. "You have changed your mind?" he asked her. 

She shook her head. "No, I'm still not ready to face everyone," she whispered. "I just wanted to say goodbye." She gave him a kiss on the cheek as she slipped a tiny package into the pocket of his jacket. He didn't feel it.

She stood with the others, waving goodbye until the van disappeared down the drive, then turned and wandered down to the labs. 

Jean watched her go. When the girls were all back downstairs in the laundry room getting ready for another game of Monopoly, she said to Ororo, "We should probably be seeing more of Amanda now that Hank's gone. She won't have him to bring her dinner anymore down in the labs, and unless she plans to not eat at all for the next two weeks, she'll have to run into all of us at some point."

Hank got out of the van at the airport, unlocked the trunk and started to put the keys into his pocket when he felt the tiny paper-wrapped package. Xavier watched, equally curiously, as he opened it.

Inside was a tiny tie-pin, gold with four tiny diamonds bunched together in the center of it. Xavier examined the piece of jewelry as Hank read the note scribbled on the piece of paper the tack had been wrapped in. "Hank: I love you. I'm sorry I didn't come with you this time. Maybe next time? Your butterfly."

Xavier smiled. "Apparently she's beginning to accept what she's become," he said. "These diamonds make a butterfly."

Hank smiled, slipped the note and the jewelry into his inner coat pocket, and bent to help Xavier out of the car.


	2. Warren

Chapter 2: Warren

                Warren yawned and switched off the TV. "Hey, Betts," he said quietly. When he didn't get an answer, he said again, "Betts?" He looked down.

                The purple-haired woman lying in his arms was sound asleep, long dark eyelashes lying against pale cheeks. Warren smiled. "Sleep well," he said, easing his arm out from under her head and laying it back against the pillow. He slid nude out of the bed, climbed into his clothes, and stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway beyond.

                Much to his surprise, he found the kitchen occupied by two other mansion residents that couldn't sleep. Jean and Charles (who had gotten back early that morning due to business in New York that caused him to need to leave the conference early) were sitting at the kitchen table talking, and paid him no attention as he went to the refrigerator and made a sandwich.

                "I was telling 'Ro that now that Hank's gone, she can't hide behind him any more," Jean was saying as she stirred the hot chocolate in her cup. "If she wants something to eat, she's going to have to come up here and get it herself, and thus meet us at some point. I hope she does; it's not right for her to be down there by herself all the time. I tried to tell Hank to make her come up here and interact with the rest of us, but he said she would come up in her own time, and not to hurry her."

                Xavier shook his head. "It's generally a bad idea to force someone into doing something they're not ready to do," he said, staring into his cup absently as he played with the tag on the tea bag. "Jean, you of all people should know that; you're a telepath. Is there some other reason why you're in such a hurry to see her?"

                "I'm curious," Jean confessed sheepishly. "I haven't really had a chance to meet the woman who's captured Hank's heart. I want to know what she's like. Though, judging from her outburst earlier, she doesn't really like me."

                "She barely knows you. Why would she not like you?"

                Jean sighed. "She said I was 'too damn perfect', Charles. She told me I have the perfect body, face, hair, and marriage."

                "Well, you do," Warren carried his sandwich over to the table and sat down across from Jean. "Even Betsy says that. You do seem perfect to people who don't know you well. And the way Scott drools over you can be positively sickening sometimes." Jean looked at him and sighed when she saw the teasing smile on his face. She swatted at his bare arm. Warren's grin got wider as he continued, "Not that we didn't all drool over you when we first got here."

                Jean stared at him. "Huh?"

                Warren grinned wickedly as he took a big bite of his sandwich. "Come on, Jean. You were the only girl in a house with four boys. What were we supposed to do, walk around with our eyes closed?" His grin sharpened. "Remember that time Bobby hooked the water in your bathroom in reverse and you got doused with an ice-cold shower? You ran out of the bathroom screaming at him? We all knew what he did, which was why we were all standing there watching you when you came out. He told us what he was going to do."

                Jean groaned. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Charles looking very interested indeed. "I had not heard of this particular story," he said. 

                Warren grinned. "You were away on a business trip, Charles," he said. "Suffice it to say we all found out then and there that Jean was _undoubtedly_ a natural redhead."

                Jean made a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a shriek and lunged at Warren across the table. He grabbed the plate with his sandwich on it out of her reach, stood, and jumped backward out of her grasp. She pursued him halfway around the table, grabbed him with her telekinesis, and held him still while she tackled him. Her fingers flew around his ribs, poking and tickling, sending him into helpless giggles. "Enough!" he howled finally. 

Jean stopped, breathing hard, face flushed, and Charles raised an eyebrow. "Are you two quite finished?"

                Warren's chair slid out from the table; his plate, with the sandwich on it, sailed from the kitchen counter to the table, and then with a grin she plunked him down in his chair. He resumed eating his sandwich as she took her seat again, smiling sweetly. "Quite done. For now. But I'm going to get Bobby for that, and Hank when he gets back."

                "What about Scott!" Warren looked offended. "He knew, and yet was there staring right along with us!"

                "Hmm. Yes, I'll have to come up with something for him too…" And Jean was obviously far gone in her plans as she got up, put her empty cup in the sink, and wandered off up the stairs.

                Warren watched her go. "Poor Scott," he said. "I don't want to know how she gets him." 

                **Warren?** Came a sleepy voice in his head.

                He tilted his head up toward the ceiling. _Yes, Betts?_

                **If you're in the kitchen, I'd love a cup of hot chocolate. And I'd also love it if my lover came back to bed.** Warren blushed. Xavier probably had heard that.

                _Be right there, _he thought. He felt a sleepy affirmative from her, then she withdrew her psychic tendrils from his mind. He got up and began fixing a cup of hot chocolate for her as he said to Xavier, "I don't know why women get so upset about the way they look in front of others. Jean has a wonderful body. And I haven't seen much of Amanda since she went through the transformation, but from what I've seen she doesn't look that bad."

                Xavier shook his head as he drank down the last of his tea. "Women are not the only ones," he said. "If I remember correctly, when you came back to us after Apocalypse transformed you, you were quite reluctant to face the rest of us for a while."

                "But that was different," Warren said quietly. "Apocalypse changed me from a normal mutant to a killer one. He took my mutation a step farther than Mother Nature intended it to go. All Amanda has is the mutation coded in her genes."

                "Brought out by a virus that was forcibly introduced into her body. It wasn't a willing mutation, and Warren, think about this; if Amanda's mutation were a natural one, she would have mutated at puberty. Nature never intended her to be a mutant. She would have gone through her whole life as a carrier only if she hadn't been injected. And the process of mutating, normally a slow, gradual process over the course of a few years, took place in a matter of a day, in a traumatic, extremely painful manner. Think of it as a…think of it as an identity rape, Warren. Magneto took away the appearance she has had her whole life and replaced it with something so different she's having trouble reconciling herself to it." Xavier stared into his empty teacup, thinking. "When Erik and I became friends all those years ago, I never thought he would go to such lengths to ensure that his dream of mutant superiority would succeed."

                Warren said lightly, "I doubt that Magneto dreamed of the lengths _you_ would go to in order to ensure that your dream of coexistence would be possible." He waved his hand to indicate the mansion and all it contained.

                Xavier smiled thinly. "The sword does have two edges, does it not?" He brought his hoverchair over to the sink and placed his empty cup in it. "I had best get to bed, and you had better get that to Betsy before she becomes impatient. You really don't want her mad at you again."

                "No," Warren gave a theatrical shudder. "The last time I pissed her off she chased me around the Danger Room with her sword threatening to cut off my wings! Not that she'd ever do it, but--"

                "It's still never wise to anger a woman with a sword," Xavier smiled. "Good night, Warren. Or morning, as it happens." He left the kitchen.

                Warren put the cup on a saucer and turned off the kitchen light. His bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, and he only sound to mark his passing was the quiet susurrus of his feathers against the floor. He twitched his wings up a little higher to clear the floor. Thus silent, and with the mansion's silence, he clearly heard the sound of soft crying when he passed Amanda's door.

                He paused, irresolute for a moment. Should he leave her alone, or should he go in and comfort her? Hank had told him Amanda sometimes had bad dreams about her experience, and that she calmed down quicker when he was with her, but would Amanda mind if it was him? Hank was out of town, after all.

                He quickened his steps until he reached his room, one door further down, and walked in. Betsy was sitting up in bed, wearing a negligee of scarlet Chinese silk and looking very desirable indeed. He completely forgot about Amanda, put the cup of hot chocolate on the night table, and jumped into bed beside Betsy. She held him off with one hand as she listened. "What's that?"

                "What's what?" he nuzzled at her neck.

                "That sound…" she gently nudged his face away from her neck as she tried to listen.

                "It's Amanda," he said. "She's having bad dreams again."

                Betsy shuddered. "Well, no wonder," she said softly. "After all she's been through, first getting beaten up, and then mutated…Too bad Hank isn't here." She turned to him. "Why don't you go and check if she's all right?"

                "Me? Isn't this sort of thing yours or Jean's department?"

                Betsy sighed and reached for her cup. "Normally I would say yes, but Jean is sleeping, I am hardly dressed, and for some reason, I think she would respond better to you. You do have the wings, after all." She kissed him. "Go on. I'll wait for you."

                He gently opened Amanda's door. The soft lighting in the mansion's hallway dimly outlined the figure huddled on the bed, shaking with sobs under the blanket. As Warren had guessed, she was still asleep.

                He reached out to her, hesitated a moment, then touched her shoulder lightly. "Amanda?"

                She rolled over on her side, and Warren winced as one of her wings got crushed under her body. "It hurts…oh, please, make it stop…it hurts…"

                He knew she meant whatever dreamscape she was wandering down at the moment, but it was making his shoulder muscles cramp looking at the awkward angle of her trapped wing. He reached under her and eased the membrane out from under her body, marveling at its feel. His own were feathers; nothing unusual about them; but Amanda's wings felt different. He had never had a chance to feel them. They felt like layers of plastic wrap wrapped over and around thin, flexible, unbreakable wire, but it was plastic wrap without the clinginess, like transparent silk, and apparently just as strong. It was a good thing that they were strong, because if they weren't, they'd probably have ripped by now, like the wing of a butterfly he had seen once who had just escaped a bird. There had been a ragged hole where the bird's beak had punctured the wing's surface, and he knew that the rip wouldn't heal. He hoped nothing would ever happen to Amanda's; it would be a shame to ruin such beautiful things.

                The caught wing sprang back into shape, none the worse for its momentary bent position, and it caught the soft light from the hall as she rolled over on her stomach. Warren caught his breath. Hank had always loved beautiful things; it was why he loved poetry so much. Amanda's wings were sheer poetry, rainbows caught on transparent wings, an iridescent sheen that changed colors and patterns from minute to minute. Right now they were fluttering in agitation as the dream escalated. 

                "Magneto! No…you bastard!…" and she flailed out with her fists. 

Warren caught them gently. "Amanda, come on, open your eyes. He's not here, you're safe," he said soothingly. She sat bolt upright, gasping, and he sat down abruptly on the bed, ignoring the tiny hard lumps under his backside as he pulled her shaking form to him. He held her for a while, shushing her, rubbing her bare shoulders and arms, stroking her arms as he'd seen Hank do once. 

She finally quieted, and said sleepily, "Hank?"

"No, it's Warren." Her eyes flew open, and he was pinned by her silver gaze for a moment before she sprang backward in her bed. 

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked warily.

He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Easy. I was bringing Betsy a cup of hot chocolate from the kitchen when she heard you crying. She's not exactly…dressed…so I came in here to wake you up before going back to my bed." He lowered his hands and brushed irritably at the small hard objects littering the bed. "What is this stuff…do you booby-trap your bed to make sure no one gets in it?" he looked up at her, smiling that charming smile most women found so irresistible. 

Amanda wasn't immune to that smile. She gave him a weak one as she slid off the bed, accompanied by a soft patter as whatever they were fell to the floor with her. "No." She switched on the light and reached for the wastebasket beside the bed. "Hank and I don't know how this happens, or why, but for some reason my tears dry out as crystals." She held the wastebasket beside the bed and started to sweep the tiny hard objects into it.

Warren reached out, felt for one of the hard objects, and picked it up. In the warm yellow light from the lamp he could see the small clear crystal. There was a tiny flaw running through it, a flaw that threw back rainbows like a crack in an ice cube. "They're beautiful," he said, awed. "You shouldn't throw them away."

"What would I do with them?" Amanda said with a bitter laugh. "They're pretty, but they're useless. Like me." She put the wastebasket down on the bed with unnecessary force as she pulled the blanket off her bed and shook it. A faint hail of stones hit the floor as she did, and she sighed and reached for a broom.

Warren tilted the basket so he could see inside. Among the other trash in it, he could see what looked like thousands of the tiny crystals. It obviously wasn't the first time she'd had to do this. "You're not useless," he said to her.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Hank says the same thing. He says pretty things are never useless, that beauty satisfies soul hunger."

"It does," he said. "And if you learned to use your wings, they wouldn't be useless."

"No," she said firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Why?" he asked her.

She stuttered for a moment. "Well…look at them! They hurt if I just bump them! How are they going to hold my weight up?"

"Excuses, excuses," Warren threw a pillow at her. "Sounds like you're just scared." He paused, seeing the way she had just flinched. "Hey. You are scared, aren't you?"

Very slowly, she nodded. "I don't like heights," she said. "And what if they don't hold me up? What if I fall and hurt myself?"

"I'll make sure you don't fall," he said.

Amanda shuddered. "Wait a minute. You're thinking of getting me to jump off of your balcony to see if I can fly?" When he nodded, she shook her head. "You're nuts. Absolutely not!"

"It's not that hard," he insisted. "And flying, when you get over the first fright of being so high up, can be wonderful. Look, Rogue and Ororo can fly, and Jean can levitate. Would you still be afraid if they were watching and they could make sure you didn't fall? Seriously, now."

Amanda thought about it. "Maybe not," she finally admitted. "But I'm sure you all have something better to do than baby-sit me." She put the broom back in the corner. "Especially after I've been practically ignoring everyone."

"Oh, believe me, no one minds," Warren said. "They understand. After all, it's not the first time something like this has happened."

"Really?" Amanda perked up.

"Yeah." Warren stood and flexed his wings.  "When I first mutated I had a pair of white feathered wings exactly like these. Then one of our enemies, Apocalypse, kidnapped me and replaced the feathered ones with metal wings that could fire poisoned razor-edged metal shards." He shook his head. "Mine eventually grew back, though."

"Wow." Amanda sighed. "I guess that could be worse. Are you sure no one would mind?"

"Of course not!" Warren tucked his wings back against his shoulders. "Truth? Everyone's been dying to meet you. Ever since Hank came back from your place he's been talking of nothing but you. You have to understand something, Amanda, Hank doesn't go out with women much. He's picky about the kind of girl he goes with, they're picky about the way he looks, and so because of that it's been a _really _long time since he went out with a girl. So when he started going out with you it electrified the mansion's rumor mill. We're all dying to get to know the girl who finally stole his heart."

Amanda smiled, finally. "Well, when you put it that way…okay," she said. "I'll try flying."


	3. Flying

Chapter 3: Flying

                Amanda was getting dressed when there was a knock on her door. "One moment," she said. She tucked her shirt into her pants, slid her feet into her shoes, and went to open the door.

                Warren stood on the other side. "Ready?" he asked her.

                She stared at him blankly for a moment before she remembered their discussion of the night before. "No. I'm not ready." She shuffled her feet. "I changed my mind. I can't do it."

                Warren sighed. "Amanda, you can't hide in here or in the labs forever," he said. "I know Hank loves you, and he's willing to do almost anything for you, but putting up with this childishness isn't going to be fun for him."

                Stung, Amanda bristled. "I am not being childish!"

                "Sure you are," Warren said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're acting like a spoiled child who's scared of trying something new so you're avoiding it, putting it off again and again."

                "I am not scared!" Amanda tried to close the door. "I just changed my mind. I'm allowed to change it if I want to, don't I?" 

                "Nope!" Warren grabbed Amanda from behind, being careful not to crush the wings, and half-dragged, half-carried her down the hall toward his room 

"Put me down, damn you!" she screamed furiously, lashing out at him with her feet. He moved his shin out of the way with an easy side-step, and continued walking

                Despite her kicking and screaming, she was an easy handful for Warren. She didn't weigh much. Doors opened up and down the hall as the others checked out the source of the commotion. Mosdt of them just chuckled and went back to what they were doing, but Jubilee gave him a wicked grin and a thumbs-up sign before taking the stairs out to the back lawn.

                Warren carried Amanda through his room and out to his balcony, finally depositing her on the low railing of his balcony. She squeezed her eyes shut. "GET ME DOWN OFF HERE--"

                "Nope." Warren had his hands on her ankles, keeping her from falling. "Look up, Amanda." Her eyes remained stubbornly squeezed shut. "Amanda," he warned her.

                Slowly, she opened her eyes. The sky overhead was a clear, endless blue, with a few puffy cumulus clouds drifting across it. Ororo, Rogue, and Jean were hovering there, having broken off their game of aerial tag when they saw Warren emerge with Amanda. Rogue gave her a friendly wave, and Jean called out, "It's all right, Amanda, we won't let you fall!"

                "I'm not going to fall because I'm not going to try!" She wriggled furiously in Warren's grasp. "Put me down! I'll tell Hank what you're doing!" She wriggled again. "Let me go!"

                "Okay," Warren said cheerfully, and released her ankles.

                There was a moment of dizziness, a feeling of freefall, and a sinking realization that the ground was much too hard and was coming up at her much too fast. Amanda screamed in panic, grabbed for something, anything, to stop her fall, but her grasping hands found nothing but empty air.

                Above her, Ororo watched as Jean's telekinetic 'hand' grabbed for the falling woman. She didn't stop Amanda from falling, just slowed her down enough so that she could get over the shock so instinct could kick in.

                Amanda didn't even notice. She gasped in fright, and flexed her wings. Was it her imagination, or was there a tiny bit of lift? She tried it again, this time in a broad up-and-down sweep of her wings. Yes, that was a bit of lift! She started to flutter them frantically, up and down, rapidly, trying to keep herself aloft. Her eyes were squeezed shut as her frantic fluttering lifted her above the treetops. When she finally got up the nerve to open her eyes, she discovered that the mansion was quite some distance below her, and Ororo, Jean, and Rogue were hovering in front of her, faces alight with pleased smiles.

                "I can fly?" Amanda risked another glance at the ground beneath her. The height was dizzying, but there was an odd feeling of exhilaration about being up so high, away from everything else. She peeked over her shoulder at her wings, which were pulsing gently, a few beats every now and then to keep her airborne. "I really can fly!"

                Jean grinned. "They're not just decorative, Amanda," she said cheerfully. "They're pretty and functional!"

                Amanda took another, longer look over her shoulder. In the sunlight, the rainbow sheen on her wings were much more intense, the colors almost blinding. "I can't wait until Hank comes home," she giggled suddenly. "He's going to be so pleased!" She stopped beating her wings, and just drifted down on the air currents until her feet touched the green lawn.

                "Can you get back up standing, or do you need a jumping off point?" Jean called down to her. 

"I don't know," Amanda said. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and beat her wings.

Jean cheered aloud as Amanda rose slowly in the air. "You can do it! You can fly!"

Rogue swooshed past Amanda as she regained her former altitude, brushing her arm lightly. "You're 'it'!" she said happily.

Amanda looked after her. "What?"

Jean explained. "It's a game we play every so often to sharpen our skills," she said. "It's just a simple game of tag."

"Simple!" said a voice. Warren swept past Jean, banked in a graceful arc of white feathers, and came to a stop hovering just above the two women. "It's never simple with the three of you!"

Jean nudged Amanda. "See if you can get Warren," she said. "After all, he's the one who pushed you off the railing."

Amanda redirected herself at him. Warren backpedaled in the air, laughing. "Whoa! I was just doing it for your own good, and for Hank!" he laughed. "Hank's been trying to get you to try out those wings for a while now!"

"My own good hah! If it was for my own good you'd have let me do this at my own pace instead of pushing me off!" Amanda shrieked as she dove for him.

The game progressed, winding in and out of the trees, the lead constantly changing as the person who was 'it' tagged another person. Amanda didn't serve too many turns as 'it', though; they were taking it a bit easier on her than they were with each other. After all, they were experienced veterans of the air; she was still a novice. The game finally ended when Betsy's mindvoice started calling them in for lunch.

Amanda touched down lightly on the green grass and was startled to realize she was ravenous. "I'm hungry," she said, more to herself than to anyone else, but Rogue heard her and laughed.

"Doin' somethin' strenuous like this takes a lotta energy," she explained to Amanda. "Yah think yoah hungry now? Yah should see us after a mission! We practically devour everythin' in the fridge after one a' them." She walked into the house.

Amanda lingered a moment longer outside, feeling the warm sun on her wings. She hadn't been outside the mansion since her transformation, and it felt good to be outside again. She suddenly realized how she hated being cooped up in the house. The warm summer breeze caused her wings to stir in the wind ever so slightly, and the feeling was delightful. She should be going in…but the temptation was too much to resist, and she stirred her wings again, letting them take her up above the trees, into the wild blue sky. 

She had dreamed, when she was little, about being able to fly. She'd wondered what it would be like. Incredible, she had thought. Exciting. 

Now she realized that none of her imaginings could ever have been able to give her an idea what it really was like. Flying straight up into that incredible blue expanse was intoxicating, like being drunk on a drug that had no side effects.

She turned, the movement coming almost naturally to her now. She smiled to herself. Funny how it hadn't taken her long to figure out how to fly. Somewhere in her genetic code there must have been instructions on how to use the wings, or it wouldn't have been this easy. She smiled happily, and dipped low over the woods, brushing the tops of the trees with her hands. Dipping below the canopy, she came to rest on a branch for a moment, looking for all the world like a big, exotic butterfly.

She wished Hank were here. With his strength and agility, it wouldn't be hard for him to swing from tree to tree, branch to branch, as she flew alongside. She giggled as she thought of that. Maybe even a race. That would be fun. 

It was odd; he'd only been gone a few days, but she already missed him and couldn't wait for him to get back. She'd never felt like that about anyone before; not even her ex-fiance. Unbidden, the image of Bruce Garrett intruded on her thoughts, and she shook her head to clear it. The image was replaced by another face, just as handsome but endowed with more warmth and personality than Bruce ever had. Warren's face. She liked Warren. He was like an older sibling to her. Brash, arrogant, bratty, annoying, and refusing to take no for an answer, just like Katherine had refused to take no for an answer when a young Amanda had refused to listen to her older sister. 

Warren might be handsome, but he wasn't like her Hank. Hank, despite his outward appearance was warm, sensitive, patient, caring, and kind. He loved her, and she loved him. He reminded her somewhat of her first husband; except that Dave was human, and he wasn't patient. Not by a long stretch. He had filed for divorce, not her, because he couldn't stand being second to her research. Although, in retrospect, Amanda had to admit that she hadn't loved him as much as she thought she had; if she had loved him the way she loved Hank, he would have come first. Maybe she had spent so much time at the labs precisely because she didn't love him. She couldn't talk to him like she could Hank.

She looked up, at a funny-shaped cloud in the sky that, if she looked carefully, looked a bit like Hank. "I wish you were here," she said to the sky. "I really miss you. I miss your smile, I miss your laugh, I miss being able to talk to you about anything and everything under the sun. It's funny; a whole mansion full of people, and I'm lonely. For you. I miss hearing you say my name. I miss that funny snore you have. I even…god forbid…miss you hogging the blanket at night and finding your dirty clothes in the drawer because you absent-mindedly put them there while you were thinking of something else."

"Hey, Amanda!" Jubilee called from the back door. "Enough brooding! Come on! There's a delivery guy at the door and he's got a package and he says it's yours!"

Amanda flew into the house…literally…and then ran the rest of the way to the door. The deliveryman didn't seem surprised to have the door opened by a girl with rainbow wings, rather, he stared openly at them while she signed the slip he handed her, and before he left he said to her, "I'm sure you hear this all the time, Ma'am…but you gotta be the prettiest little lady my tired old eyes have ever seen!"

Amanda laughed, leaned forward, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said. The man left rubbing his cheek and looking rather dazed.

Jubilee was snickering behind her hand as she followed Amanda up the steps. "Maybe now you'll listen to Hank when he says you're pretty," she said as Amanda grabbed her sewing scissors and cut open the packing tape on the box. "What's that, by the way?"

'Something I ordered for Hank," Amanda said. "I was browsing online when I saw it, and I know his birthday's coming up, so I bought it for him. I thought he might like it." She fished around in all the packing peanuts until she finally came up with a small velvet box. She opened it, and Jubilee oooh'ed.

Inside, nestled on the black velvet, was a heavy gold man's ring set with a blue stone the same color as Hank's fur. There were also matching cuff links and a tie clip set with the same blue stone.

She handed Jubilee the box as she went fishing around in the box again. This time the box was a polished dark cherrywood, and inside was a gold-plated pen and pencil set, each with a small blue stone set in the pocket clip. Jubilee blinked. "Wow. How'd you know?"

"Know what?"

"Hank had one of these pen sets a long time ago. Then the girl he was going out with at the time stole it and broke it. He was really upset; he loved that set."

"Well, now he has another one," Amanda took the pen from its bed and held it out. "I even had his name engraved on it. You know, just to make it more special." Jubilee peered at the tiny line of script on the pocket clip just above the stone. "I can't read it, so I'll take your word for it," she said.

"I hope he likes it," Amanda put both boxes in the top drawer of her night table.

"Oh, he will," Jubilee nodded. "He will. Come on, let's go get dinner."


	4. Jealousy

Chapter 4: Jealousy

                Hank scanned the crowd of greeters at the gate. No Warren. He sighed.

                He went to the baggage claim area, waited for his bags to be unloaded,  and was just pulling them off the belt when he heard a voice call his name. "Hank!"

                He turned, and stared with misty eyes at the wonderful sight of his beloved racing across the terminal toward him. He dropped his bags and opened his arms wide. Amanda was still running full speed when she jumped into them, and he staggered a bit as she barreled into him and plastered her lips all over his. "Amanda," he managed to get out around the pressure of her lips on his, "everyone is looking."

                They were indeed. Although the sight of mutants was common now, the sight of someone as big and powerfully built as Hank still attracted stares. And next to his big, hefty bulk, Amanda's delicate frame and fragile-looking wings were a startling contrast. Hank's eyes flicked off to the side, and he saw Warren watching them both with some amusement.

                "They can look all they want," Amanda murmured into his ear. "I'm just a woman welcoming her lover home after way too long."

                "It has not been that long, Amanda," Hank said. "It has only been thirteen days and four hours since…"

                "Hank?" Amanda looked him in the eye as she ran fingers through his hair. He almost groaned; it had been far too long since he'd felt her touch, much less one so intimate.

                "…yes?…" and boy, had he missed that tone of voice in which she said his name. 

                "Shut up and kiss me." He blinked, then gave up and did what she asked of him.

                Warren grinned at the sight of Hank and Amanda kissing in the middle of the airport. Thank God Hank was finally home. He had been getting just a little bit tired of Amanda saying 'I miss Hank' over and over the last few days.

                He looked around the terminal. People were staring. Some people were shaking their heads, some were smiling, and one old lady was laughing. He focused for some reason on one man, standing toward the front of the crowd, and noticed the man was scowling. He was looking at Hank and Amanda with a look of disgust on his face. As Warren edged closer, he heard the man muttering, "Stupid freaks. They're stupid, ugly freaks. Go back to where you came from!" he suddenly hollered at the couple. As Amanda turned a startled face toward him, he hurled his half-empty glass beverage bottle at her and Hank. 

                Amanda was too stunned to duck in time, but Hank's reflexes, honed by years of training with the X-Men, saved her from the impact. His arm flashed out between Amanda and the flying bottle, and it smashed on his arm instead. Bits of glass flew all over the place.

                The little giggling old lady turned on the big man angrily. "You stupid, ignorant boor!" she cried, hitting him with her handbag. "How dare you do that to a pretty young lady! Didn't your mother ever tell you not to hit the girls? I ought to throw something at you!" The man, embarrassed at her outburst and trying vainly to escape the blows from the capacious handbag, ducked between two other onlookers and fled. Warren chuckled for a moment before going to his friend.

                The little old lady was already there, using a tissue to wipe the blood off Hank's arm. "That terrible man!" she said as she fussed over the cuts from the broken glass on Hank's arm. "I can't believe he did that. He's the stupid one. And to throw it at a lady, too!" She made a _tsk_ing sound as she patted Amanda's arm. "You two look so lovely together," she said, "Don't let a few bad apples spoil your happiness." She turned and melted into the crowd. Amanda stared after her for a moment, and then sighed. "Come on, Hank," she said, reaching for one of his bags. "Let's get you home."

                Warren grabbed Hank's bag from Amanda. "Uh-uh. You go get in the van. I'll get the bags. Hank's stuff is heavy."

                "Warren, I can get it," she protested, but Warren took the bag from her anyway. She sighed and settled for taking Hank's arm instead.

                Hank walked out to the parking lot, Amanda on his arm and worries running through his head. She had been eager enough to greet him, yes, but there was something about the way she had looked at Warren that spoke of more than a friendly familiarity. He tried to push it away, telling himself that Warren would never move in on Amanda while he was away, but thinking about it was unavoidable as he sat in the back of the van and listened to the two of them argue about who would drive. When Amanda reached over and slapped the back of Warren's head, Hank got out of the back, slamming the door with more than the necessary force, and got into the driver's seat without a word.

                Somewhat surprised, Amanda and Warren looked at each other. Amanda shrugged. So did Warren. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for most of the ride home; Amanda tried to start a conversation but Hank replied with brief, monosyllabic replies. Thinking he was maybe still upset about the incident at the airport, Amanda decided to leave him alone.

                "Lunch is waiting," she said to him when they got home. "Are you going to come down and eat with us?"

                "I must unpack," he said shortly, and hauled his bags off upstairs without a further word to anyone.

                Amanda stared after him, worried, but Warren ran an arm across her shoulders. Hank suppressed a growl. "Come on, Amanda," Warren said. "I want your opinion of something…" and they walked off, Warren's arm still around her shoulders.

                Hank's heart sank into the pit of his stomach as he sat down on his bed. Instead of unpacking, he lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Warren and Amanda had gotten much closer, apparently, since he had left two weeks ago. 

                He sighed. It wasn't fair. Amanda was the first girl he had loved in a long time. Warren could have any girl he wanted out there, why did it have to be Amanda? Warren was a playboy; Hank might like his friend, but he wasn't blind to Warren's faults. True, he had settled down a bit since he and Betsy had started going out, but cheetahs didn't change their spots so quickly. Why, when Warren could have any girl he wanted, had he chosen to take the one girl Hank wanted? 

                Agitated, he got up and began to unpack, putting his dirty clothes in his laundry hamper and putting clean clothes away. Then he went into the bathroom he shared with Amanda for a shower.

                He got out, toweled the excess water off (there was nothing he could do with all of the water; his fur had to dry naturally) and he opened the bathroom cabinet for a tube of antibiotic ointment for the cut on his arm, which had opened in the shower and was now bleeding sluggishly.  Inside he saw a box of condoms.

                He bit his lip as he took it down. It was open, and a couple of them were missing. He shook his head disbelievingly. Had Amanda been sleeping with Warren? He didn't think she was the type…but then what was this doing here, and why was it open?

                He put it back in the cabinet, slammed the door shut, and left the bathroom. He was about to go back to his room when he caught sight of something sitting on her dresser top through the open door. A velvet box. 

                He wasn't usually the suspicious type, and he usually didn't intrude, but a spike of jealousy pricked him, and he walked into her room and picked up the box. His jealousy warred with his better judgment, but the jealousy won out, and he opened it.

                Inside the box was a gold-plated pen and pencil set. They were beautiful, exquisitely made and obviously expensive. The kind of gift a lover would give. 

                He slammed the box shut, slapped it down on her dresser, and stalked out of her room. His tear-filled eyes barely saw the hallway he walked to get back to his own room; his feet made the journey automatically, out of habit. Amanda was sleeping with Warren. It was the only explanation. And it hurt.

                His room door opened some time later, and Amanda poked her head in. "Hey Hank, she said, "How is…" she stopped as she saw him lying face-down on his bed.

                She crossed the room quickly, and sat down on the bed, touching his shoulder gently. "You're getting the bed all wet," she chuckled, running her fingers through the short blue fur on his back. Little shivers ran up and down his spine at her touch, and heat rose in his body, but anger quickly put out the fire.

                "Go away," he said.

                "What?" Amanda frowned.

                "Go away. Get out."

                "Hank, what's wrong?" she cried, pulling away from him, hurt.

                He refused to answer. She fell to her knees beside his bed, shaking his shoulder. "Hank, please talk to me. What happened? Was it the guy at the airport?"

                "Get out!" he snapped at her, rising off the bed, his face a mask of fury. Amanda stumbled back onto her heels, tears springing to her eyes.

                "Hank," she whimpered. "Please tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

                "You." He clenched his fist. "Get out, Amanda."

                Amanda stared at the fist. Fresh in her mind was the memory of Bruce's fists, his anger and rage and violent tendencies; but this was Hank, her gentle, wonderful, beloved Hank. He wouldn't hurt her.

                Hank reached down, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her feet. She protested. "Hank, please, you're hurting me!" he loosened his grip, but didn't let go until they were both in the hall. He released her arm, walked back into his room and slammed the door. Then the lock clicked.

                Amanda flung herself at the door, pounding on it. "Hank, please, open the door!" she sobbed. "Tell me what's wrong! What did I do? Hank!"

                The door remained stubbornly closed and silent. Amanda gave a convulsive scream of misery and anguish, then ran.

                On the other side of the door, Hank sat on his bed, tears streaking the fur on his face.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                A long time later, there came a knock on his door. **Hank!** Came a telepathic command. **Open this damn door at once!** It was Betsy.

                Hank yanked the door open silently. Betsy took exactly three steps into the room, crossed her arms, and said coldly and evenly, "Get your blue furry butt downstairs and apologise to that poor girl before I kick you into next week."

                Hank snarled, "No."

                "Why the bloody hell not?" He knew she was really angry now. She only backslid into her British accent when she was pissed.

                "Why should I?" he countered.

                "Because you hurt her feelings, Hank! What do you mean, 'why'?"

                "She should have predicted that happening. Her feelings should not be hurt."

                "What?" Betsy stared at him, anger gone. "Why should she have counted on this happening?"

                "Because she cannot expect me to stand by and watch while she sleeps with my best friend, that's why!" Hank roared at Betsy. 

                Betsy blinked. Amanda, sleeping with…Hank's best friend was…Warren? "She's what?"

                "I found a package of male procreative protective devices in the bathroom! And there is an expensive gift on her dresser that I am positive I did not give her!"

                Betsy started laughing, helplessly. Hank stared at her. She kept laughing, so hard she finally had to sit on the floor and hold her sides. He sat on his bed and glowered at her until she finally stopped laughing and wiped her eyes. "Oh my," she chuckled. "Amanda's going to howl when I tell her about this."

                Hank glowered harder.

                Betsy sat up, and her eyes went unfocused for a moment. Hank knew she was communicating telepathically with someone, and wasn't surprised when a few minutes later Amanda walked in timidly.

                Betsy said, "Amanda, Hank thinks you're sleeping with Warren."

                "_What?!_" Amanda yelped. "Hank, whatever gave you that impression?"

                Hank got up, stalked out of the room, and returned moments later with the pen set and the box of condoms. He threw them on the floor in front of her and returned to his seat on his bed without a word.

                Amanda's face went pink as she picked up the condoms. "Hank…"

                "There's two missing. I counted them," he said shortly.

                Amanda looked at Betsy. Betsy looked back at her. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"

                Betsy started laughing. "How about a demonstration?"

                "Mmm…I don't think he's ready for that yet." Amanda looked at Hank. "Hank, I found out why I wasn't really feeling like myself. The birth control pills I usually take were making me feel sick, because of the changes in my metabolism. I told Betsy…or rather, she had to pry it out of me…and she told me to get condoms and put it on you before we…well…" she blushed pink. "So I got some, but I didn't know how to put it on. Betsy showed me how…on a model of the, uh…um…you know…"

                Hank could feel his cheeks heating up. Not only because he just realized he'd been an ass, but the thought of Amanda bent over the little object he knew she had, practicing…he shook his head and forced his thoughts to return to the conversation. "And the pen and pencil set was supposed to be for you. Or didn't you realize that your birthday's coming up?" she said. She tossed the box at him. "Look at the pocket clip." Her voice sharpened considerably. "And by the way, happy birthday and welcome home." She got to her feet. "Thanks for ruining my surprise." She slammed his room door hard enough to make the wall shake. Minutes later there was another slam as he walked into her room and slammed that door too.

                Hank put on his glasses and peered at the pocket clip of the pen. On it, engraved in tiny script just barely big enough to see, was the name, "Henry McCoy." He put the pen carefully back in its box, took off the glasses, and sat quiet for a moment before he looked at Betsy. "I deserve to be kicked," he said ruefully.

                "Yes, you do," Betsy said cheerfully. "She quite carefully restrained herself from yelling everything she wanted to say at you. Perhaps you had better go and apologise, before she reconsiders, because if she does, she's going to say a great many things you really don't want everyone else to hear."

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Amanda repositioned herself on her bed, facing away from the adjoining door as she heard Hank come in. She wasn't really mad at him…but he had hurt her feelings, and her arm felt tender where he'd grabbed her earlier. "Amanda?" she heard him say, softly and…meekly, for him. "Amanda, I am…" He broke off, and her bed settled deeper onto its springs as he sat down. He reached out to absently stroke the skin of her back between her wings, which she'd found out quite to both their delight one night that touching her there felt quite good indeed. She wanted to shiver at the touch, but forced herself to remain still.

                "I am not good at making apologies," he muttered to himself, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "Amanda, I am sorry for what I said, and for what I did. I should have asked you about the…devices…and the gift, before I made untrue assumptions. Will you accept my apologies?" he paused for a moment, then added softly, "Please?"

                She turned over and mashed her lips against his. He was startled for a moment, then returned the kiss with interest. She finally broke it off when breathing became a necessary option, and they parted for breath. After a moment, she chuckled wryly and lay back on her bed facing him. 

He looked at her. "Does this mean you will not yell at me?"

She grinned and picked up the box of condoms. "I'll still yell," she said, "But with the right incentive…maybe not _at_ you. I'll just yell." 


	5. Lover and Brother

Chapter 5:

                Hank tapped briefly on the door before opening it and poking his head in. "Amanda?"

                The room was empty.

He checked the gym. No Amanda there. Same with the lab, his room, the Danger room, and the Rec room. He finally stopped in the kitchen, where Ororo and Jean were talking, and politely interrupted them. "Jean…excuse me…have you seen Amanda? I have been looking for her for the last half hour, and she is not in the house."

"Did you look out the window?" Jean pointed out the window, and Hank squinted . "What are…oh." He could just vaguely make out the shape of his little butterfly sitting out on the grass on a blanket, one of the familiar boxes of her research notes open beside her and papers spread out on the grass, weighted down by pebbles. There wasn't a whole lot of wind, anyway. "She's been spending more time outside lately."

He went out the mansion's back door, down the gently sloping green lawn, and out to where she sat half-under the shade of the old oak tree. "Amanda. I am not disturbing you, I hope?"

"You? Never." Amanda looked up and gave him a kiss as he sat down. "You're never disturbing me."

He sat down on the blanket behind her, carefully moving the pile of paper aside from just beside her right knee so he could slide his long blue legs around her. He pressed his broad chest against her back, draped his head over her shoulder, and looked at the papers she was sorting.

She put down the sheaf of papers in her hand and leaned back against him, sighing. Hank rubbed the skin of her back between her wings, and she leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation. They sat that way for a long time, listening to the birds chirp in the leaves above them. She finally broke the comfortable silence. "Hank?"

"Yes?"

She giggled. "I love the way your voice rumbles through your chest. It tickles, kind of, when I'm lying against you, but it feels good." She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. "Hank, I asked you once a while ago that if a technique became available for reversing or removing mutations would you take it, and you said yes. Do you still feel the same way?"

Hank avoided the question. "When Magneto injected you with the virus, you hated it. You started working really hard on the research because you said you wanted to reverse what was done to you. If you developed the technique, would you still reverse your transformation?"

Amanda frowned. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I'm kind of getting used to these wings, and the feeling of flying is exhilarating. I'm starting to think maybe I don't want to go back to the way I was. I like it like this." She twisted in his arms. "And you didn't answer my question."

Hank pursed his lips. "I don't know, Amanda. I have become accustomed to the way I look, and it does not seem to bother anyone but the ignorant, like that gentleman at the airport."

"Gentleman. Hah. That's not the word I'd use--" and Amanda spat out a pithy phrase that made Hank's eyes pop.

"Amanda!" he said, shocked. She giggled. "That is not a nice word," he said with mock sternness, giving her a playful, gentle smack on her bottom. Amanda squealed, giggled, and tried to worm out of his arms as he aimed another smack at her rear portion.

She ducked out from under his arm and sprang up. The papers rustled as she passed, but didn't fly away. Hank made a grab for her bare ankle (her shoes sat forgotten by the edge of the blanket) but she danced out of his reach, flying up to the branches of the tree above him. She balanced on a branch, hands on her hips, a mocking smile on her face. He growled in mock ferociousness and swung himself up on one of the lower limbs. "You can't get away from me!" he told her. Amanda just laughed and skipped off to the next tree.

Hank swung his powerful frame from tree to tree, Amanda always just ahead of him. They were laughing lightheartedly, like children, when Warren, having flown into town to his office to take care of some of his private business spotted them. He watched for a few moments, trying to figure out which side he was going to be on, then swooped down and caught Amanda. "I got her, Hank!" he exulted, scooping Amanda out of the tree and hovering with her in front of the low branch Hank was currently standing on. "I got her! What do you want me to do with her?"

Hank swung out of the tree, grabbed Amanda in a fireman's carry from Warren as he fell past his winged friend, and landed on the ground with Amanda draped over his knee. "I got her, my feathered friend," he said. He commenced to tickle Amanda all over, his hands gently poking at her ribs and sides until she was breathless with laughter. 

"Okay, enough!" she said finally, panting and out of breath. Hank let her get up, and she pulled her shirt back down over her bare skin, then shook out her white hair to clear it of the leaves and twigs sitting in it. Then she turned and glared at Warren. "You are just like my sister," she scowled. "Won't take no for an answer. God, I hate bratty older siblings!" She turned and ran off, back toward the blanket and the papers which were stirring in the light breeze that had sprung up while they were playing.

Warren grinned. "That's quite a woman you got there, Hank. Better take care of her."

Hank punched Warren, none too gently, on the arm. Warren yelped and rubbed his arm. "What did you do that for?"

"For throwing Amanda off your balcony when you were teaching her to fly," Hank said sternly. "It was not necessary that she learn at just that moment, Warren. Why did you not allow her to progress at her own pace?"

Warren said sharply, "First, because her pace was way too slow. Life's too short for wasting time like she was doing. Second, she needed a good kick in the pants. She was spending too much time wallowing in self-pity, and _you _were encouraging her." The two men paused while still some distance away from the blanket, watching Amanda flit about in the air trying to catch the few stray pages that had slipped out from under her makeshift paperweights. Hank was about to go and help her, but Warren held him back. "She's doing fine, Hank."

"But her notes…"

Warren grabbed his arm firmly. "Hank, there's something you need to learn. _Loosen up._ You keep hovering over her, doing things for her that she could do herself, she's going to get irritated with you eventually. Betsy's surprised she hasn't blown up at you yet. Being conscientious and courteous is one thing, Hank, but you tend to overdo it sometimes. That's part of the reason why you couldn't get her to come out of her shell faster. You're too gentle, Hank."

"She is so fragile, so delicate," Hank said, "emotionally and physically. I want to protect her and love her and care for her."

"Trust me, she's a lot tougher than she looks," Warren said with a long-suffering sigh. 

"What do you mean by that?" Hank looked at him sidelong.

Warren spluttered. "I refuse to answer that," he said finally, "on the grounds that you're going to punch me a lot harder once you hear the story. Just trust me, you're not going to hurt her by letting her go her own way."

Hank digested that in silence as Amanda caught another paper and popped it in the box. She took to the air again, circling on the air currents, drifting on the breeze, and he could hear the sound of her laughter as she spiraled farther up into the air. "I shall ask Betsy, then," he said, and watched Warren's face turn a deeper shade of blue. Smiling to himself, he loped off across the lawn toward the mansion, leaving his blushing friend behind.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Betsy was in the gym, polishing and cleaning her swords when Hank tapped politely on the door. "Come on in, Hank," Betsy said. "What can I do for you?"

                "Warren and I were talking about Amanda, and he mentioned that I was being too gentle  with her, that she is a lot tougher than she looks--" He stopped, because Betsy had put down her polishing stones and was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and frustration.

                "You really don't understand, do you?" she chuckled and sat back on her heels, brushing a stray lock of dusky purple hair off her forehead as she gestured to the gym mat in front of her. "Sit down. I thought we were going to have to talk sooner or later." She looked at the tray of stone in front of her, chose a lump of well-worn gray rock, and drew it along the edge of the blade in front of her in one smooth stroke. She began to talk as the stone moved in sure, deft strokes up and down the shining length. "Amanda has no thought in her head for anyone but you. The reason she and Warren have become such close friends is because, firstly, he's known you much longer than she has, and he can tell her all those little funny, tender, sad, and happy stories about you, including many that you'd never tell her yourself. She likes that, because she gets to see a side to you that she normally doesn't get to see. Secondly, Warren has a kind of big-brother/little-sister relationship with her, and I think she likes that. She misses it, I think. Did she ever tell you about her sister Katherine?"

                Hank nodded. "Yes."

                "Well, she told Warren too. And he realized she misses that. That's why he treats her the way he does; it kind of makes her feel a little more like she belongs, since she feels out of it enough already, not being able to join the X-Men and all."

                "Charles refused to allow her to join us?"

                Betsy laughed. 'Good heavens, no! Can you imagine Charles excluding anyone? No, he asked her, but she declined. She's worried that the fragility of her wings is going to be a liability to us when it comes down to a fight. And Charles had to agree with her on that." She put the stone down and picked up a stiff piece of leather, buffing the blade with it.

                 "Warren told me that I need to be a little rougher, or at least not so gentle, with Amanda," Hank said thoughtfully, watching Betsy put the leather down and picking up a soft cloth soaked in metal polishing fluid.

                Betsy dropped the sword as the words penetrated. "He did what?" She picked up the sword, examined the nick in the blade, and sighed, putting the cloth aside and picking up a lump of coarse brown stone and starting to work on the scratch. "Warren said what?"

                "He said I need to stop being so gentle with Amanda." Hank repeated. 

                Betsy put the sword down and pushed a stray piece of hair back again, this time leaving a smear of grayish dust on her cheekbone. "Listen to me, Hank," she said. "You go right on being your own furry, lovable self. You're Amanda's lover; you're supposed to be gentle, kind, caring, and loving. That's your job. Warren's job as her surrogate big brother is to needle, annoy, frustrate, and piss her off. It's the balance between the two that will help her overcome her uncertainty right now. Warren's just being a butthead." She gave a soft chuckle as she returned to working the scratch out of the blade. "Though I understand why he said it to you. He just doesn't want her to get mad at him again."

                "Yes, Warren mentioned that 'Amanda's tougher than she looks' but he would not tell me why he said that, on the grounds that I would 'punch him harder' if I knew." Hank said. "I wanted to know what happened."

                Betsy put the stone, sword, and polishing cloth down, carefully, and started to laugh in that pecuiliar way she had. She sat silently, shoulders shaking, for so long Hank began to get a bit concerned that she might pass out from lack of oxygen. Finally she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and said, "Well. I'll tell you, but you must promise not to tell him I told you. And that you won't hit him." 

                "I promise." He would have promised anything to hear this story.

                Betsy settled back on her heels. "It started one morning when we were at breakfast. Amanda was looking for gift wrap for her present for you, and she asked Warren. He looked her up and down and told her she already was wrapped; she just needed to get you to unwrap her. She smacked him. He smacked her back. She tried to smack him again, but he evaded her and ran from the table.

                "Quite some time later we all heard him yell. Warren came running out of the bathroom with a red mark across his back. Amanda had rigged some kind of device inside the bathroom while he was in the shower. When he climbed out he got smacked by something; I never did find out what it was.

                "Well, of course he knew who did it, even if Amanda hadn't written 'Danger Room' on the bathroom mirror with her lipstick and signed her name. He went rushing off to the Danger Room after he stopped in and grabbed his pants. He didn't bother putting on a shirt. 

                "She was hiding in the Danger room, in a simulation of a dark warehouse. I have to give her points for creativity there. She could hear Warren coming; the sound of his wings is unmistakable. But Amanda's wings don't make a sound. She took advantage of that, and she was carrying a bucket of paint and a paintbrush. She'd make asses while he was looking in the wrong direction, and paint one of his feathers pink. He'd turn, trying to catch her, but he never did.

                "She finally got tired and shut the simulation down. As soon as he saw her he tackled her. She went down under him, they tussled for a minute, and he thought he had her pinned. Then she burst out from under him, clouted him over the head with her wings(and they do seem to pack a punch!) and kept buffeting him over the head until he gave up." She giggled. "It took three showers before most of the pink paint washed off, but some of it just wouldn't come out. Warren's going to have slightly pink feathers until his next molt." 

                Hank laughed aloud at the mental image. "Poor Warren," he sighed finally. "I can see why he doesn't want her to get upset with him again."

                "Well, it's not entirely one-sided," Betsy admitted. "Amanda was sorry she didn't check the paint to make sure it was washable before she used it, so she gave Warren a chance to get her one. He found an old wing feather of his that I saved from his last molt so I could improvise a feather when he breaks them in battle, and tickled her with it until she was out of breath." Betsy gave him a naughty grin. "Has she used it yet?"

                "Hank didn't understand. "Used it?"

                Betsy grinned, a wicked, merry smile. "I showed her some…interesting…things that could be done with feathers. And I told her to try them on you, that you'd enjoy it. Has she?"

                "…no…" Hank was dying to know what those 'interesting things' were!…

                "Well, if you're nice, maybe she will…" Betsy stood. "I'm done. Think Warren and Amanda will be up to lunch?"

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Hank was looking at the large white feather leaning against the back of the closet when Amanda came in. She smiled as she saw the direction of his gaze. "I'm going to take a shower," she said, slipping into the bathroom.

                There was luckily no one in the hall when she emerged a short time later. She reached into the bottom bathroom cabinet and brought out a smaller, softer feather, and twirled it in her fingers as she tiptoed into Hank's room and closed the door. Hank's jaw dropped as he took in the sight of the lacy white teddy she was wearing. She gave him a wicked smile, crossed the room to the bed, and tapped the feather against his nose before trailing it lower.

                Betsy was right, Hank thought before drifting off into sleep much later. There were definitely some very interesting things that could be done with feathers.


	6. Bruce

Chapter 6: Bruce

                **Hank?**

                Hank rolled over in bed, opening his eyes slowly. _Yes, Jean?_

                **The morning paper just got delivered.** There was an odd undertone to Jean's mental voice. **There's something in it I think you should see. Can you come down?**

                _I shall be there momentarily._ He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at the peacefully sleeping woman beside him. Should he wake her? He decided not to, as they had been up rather late the previous night…

                He smiled at the memory, and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on the white shoulder. Amanda moaned a bit and rolled over on her stomach, but she didn't wake. He eased his numb arm out from under her head, stroked the soft, cottony white hair for a moment, then slid out of bed and got dressed.

                Jean looked up as he appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Her face was serious. "I'm sorry I woke you up," she said, "but I really thought you would want to see this before Amanda did."

                Hank took the sheet of newspaper Jean handed him, adjusted his glasses, and read:

                _The long-dreaded war between mutants and humans is coming,_ went the paper. _Just recently respected scientist Dr. Bruce Garrett uncovered evidence of a massive conspiracy by the mutant population of the world to convert the rest of us into mutants. Dr. Garrett introduced a small coalition of world-respected scientists to his discovery in Massachusetts a week ago, when he injected a mouse with a terrible virus apparently created by mutant scientist Dr. Henry McCoy that caused the mouse to develop a hideous mutant extra limb. Dr. Garrett, who graduated Columbia University with an advanced degree in physics and Johns Hopkins with a PH.D in biogenetics, postulated that Dr. Henry McCoy plans to introduce this virus into the general population, showing his stunned audience as proof a photograph of his former fiancé, the well-known and much beloved Amanda Greene, who has mutated into a hideous half-human half-insect hybrid as a result of Dr. McCoy's unethical use of her as a test subject._

_                The authorities are currently searching for Dr. Amanda Greene, who Dr. Garrett believes is being held against her will somewhere by this mutant doctor. He urges anyone who may have seen her to report her presence to the police, as she is no doubt being tormented by this deranged doctor._

Hank stared for some time in silence at the paper. "How could he tell others such lies?" he asked Jean finally, raising his eyes. "Bruce knows perfectly well that the virus was a naturally-occurring life form, and that Amanda was working on it. He has not only claimed credit for her work, but he has neatly managed to destroy both our reputations as scientists and has made Amanda the subject of a manhunt! What do we do now?"

                "I expect that the police are going to be here soon to question you, and perhaps take you into custody," Xavier said, rolling his wheelchair…his regular wheelchair, and not the hoverchair, a sure sign that he was expecting visitors. "I also expect that they may already have obtained a search warrant for the house. I believe it will be necessary to wake her, and get her installed in the labs downstairs until the authorities have gone."

                "I have to do what?" came Amanda's voice from the doorway, and they turned, to see her standing in the kitchen doorway. "Hank, what's going on?"

                Hank looked at Jean. Jean looked at him, then back at Xavier. Xavier gave a tiny, negative shake of his head. Hank looked back at Amanda.

                She stood there with her arms crossed, waiting for an explanation, when the doorbell suddenly rang. The sound of its soft chimes had barely died out through the house when there came a pounding at the door. "Police! Open up! We have a search warrant!"

                Jean grabbed Amanda's arm. "There's no time to explain. Can you go downstairs to the labs and wait for Hank? Don't come back up until one of us comes down for you. Please, Amanda. It's important."

                Amanda looked about to protest, but then blinked and said, "Okay."

                Jean rushed Amanda down the stairs to the basement, hustled her through the cement door that separated the lower, secret levels of the mansion from its public façade upstairs, and then dragged the dusty boxes telekinetically across that section of wall so that no fingerprints would be left on the surface of the cardboard. Then she raced back up the stairs, closed the door to the basement, and started to do dishes as though nothing were wrong, even though her heart was hammering a mile a minute. She eavesdropped telepathically on the conversation going on in Charles'study.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Scott was the one opening the door, but the police officers brushed past him wordlessly. The man who had knocked, a tall, heavyset lieutenant, said "I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Xavier, but we have a few questions we need to ask your associate and resident, Dr. Henry McCoy."

                "Please come into my office," Xavier said, turning his wheelchair. In his role as butler, Scott took the handles and started to push Xavier down the hall to his study.

                "Found him, lieutenant!" came a voice a few short minutes later, and one of the other officers escorted Hank into Xavier's study. Hank walked in, straightened his shirt, and said stiffly, "I protest this manhandling of my person, officers. Might you perhaps be so kind as to inform me of what I am being accused of?"

                "This," the lieutenant said, holding up a copy of the paper. Hank took it from him and pretended to read it.

                "I must commend Dr. Garrett on his imagination, if nothing else," he said amiably. "And his powers of deception. The virus he is speaking of was not developed by me; it was discovered by Dr. Amanda Greene. She has been conducting research on the virus for some time, now. I was assisting her with her research. I assure you, I was not conducting any experiments upon her; to do so would violate every moral and ethical code in place for members of the medical profession."

                "Do you know where she is?"

                "I have not seen her for some time," Hank said. "I have no idea where she is at just this moment." Which was marginally true; he didn't know exactly where Amanda was hiding in the mansion.

                The lieutenant said, "What about this allegation that she's been changed?"

                "As to that, I can tell you that it was an accident. Amanda was working with the virus when she was exposed to it, and it triggered the morphological changes of which Dr. Garrett is speaking of. It was an accident."

                The lieutenant said bluntly, "I don't believe you."

                "Believe it or not, as you like; but I promise you  it is only the truth."

                "Well, I still have a warrant for your arrest. Place your hands behind your back, please."

                "Lieutenant, I assure this is not necessary; I will go without making the use of restraints--"

                The man ignored Hank's protest. "Dr. Henry McCoy, you are under arrest for conspiracy to subvert humanity, the kidnapping of Dr. Amanda Greene, the forcible transformation of the aforementioned person, and the unlawful imprisonment of Dr. Greene." He went on to read the rest of Hanks rights to him as the assortment of officers and police reassembled in Xavier's foyer. 

"She's not here, Lieutenant," came the voice of a younger officer as he led the last group of police officers up to them. "We looked everywhere. We asked everyone where she is, or if they'd seen her; they all replied negatively." _Thanks in no small part to Jean's telepathic forewarning of the rest of the X-Men, _Hank thought.

"Where is she?" the lieutenant snapped angrily, jerking on Hank's handcuffs. "Where is she!" he shoved a photograph at Hank.

Hank blinked. The photograph was of Amanda, obviously taken at the airport a week ago. There was the little old lady; the man holding the glass beverage bottle high, preparatory to throwing it at Amanda; himself; and Amanda herself; but something was wrong with the picture. Amanda's form had been digitally manipulated, distorted so that she didn't look like her mutated self. In the photograph her head was misshapen, with round protruding bugged-out eyes and a strangely misshapen mouth. The delicate, lovely rainbow wings now were a sickly greenish-yellow color; and the shape of her legs were manipulated to look like spidery insect legs. He wanted to tell them that that wasn't what his lover looked like at all…but he refrained. If they were looking for some Frankenstein-like monster they would be less likely to recognize Amanda when they finally did find her. He was positive that they would eventually; but not until Xavier and Jean had been able to explain what had happened. He allowed the thin plastic cable ties to be wrapped around his wrists, even though they were much too small and dug painfully into his wrists. He followed the officers outside, to the van, and  got into the back docilely. Xavier followed them out to the van. Hank, I shall be down at the police station with a lawyer shortly. Say nothing until I arrive." Hank nodded, and took a last look out the back window at the mansion as the cavalcade of police vehicles made their way back down the long drive to the road.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Amanda waited for what seemed like ages, then busied herself with some of the test tubes and compounds she had been experimenting with. She gave up when she found herself mechanically repeating steps she'd already done. She gave up trying to concentrate on anything else but what might be happening in the mansion above her, and sat on Hank's lab stool, biting her nails. It was a bad habit, one she tried to break herself of, but it still came out in moments of stress.

                Quite a long time later, she heard the sound of the cement door being opened and footsteps coming down the hall. "Hank?" she got up, eagerly, going out to the hall, but to her disappointment it was only Jean. "Where's Hank?"

                Jean didn't answer for a minute. Amanda repeated her question. Jean sighed. "Come upstairs, Amanda," she said. "Charles and I need to talk to you."

                Amanda stared in shock at the newspaper article. Her legs suddenly seemed to fold up under her, and Jean just barely managed to get the kitchen chair under her before she collapsed. "My God,' she whispered. "I never thought Bruce would stoop so low…how could he do this? How? It was my research! And I'm not some hideous insect! And he's implying that Hank forcibly transformed me…how could he do this?" she looked up. "Where's Hank?"

                Jean laid a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "The police who were here arrested him," she said. "For kidnapping you, for forcibly transforming you, for holding you against your will, and for allegedly trying to do the same thing to every human on earth."

                Amanda's mouth dropped open. "And you just let them take him?" she sprang out of the chair. "I shouldn't have hidden downstairs. I should have told them I was there of my own free will. Why did you make me hide!?" her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Hank," she sighed.

                Xavier put a hand on her arm. "Think, Amanda," he said. "Do you honestly think they would have taken your word for it? They would have arrested you as well. As long as Hank can still make it seem as though he doesn't know where you are, we have time to try to figure out how to convince Bruce to retract what he said."

                Amanda shook her head. "I'll do it. I'll make him." 

                Jean pinned her back down into the chair telekinetically. "You're not going anywhere, Amanda. You're going to stay here. I'm going to send Jubilee to his apartment with Logan and see if they can't talk some sense into him. Charles and I will head out to the jail with a lawyer and see if we can spring Hank." She sensed Amanda about to protest and said firmly, "No. Amanda, you must stay here. You must. You can't be caught. Promise us you'll stay here." Amanda crossed her arms stubbornly. Jean persisted. "Amanda, promise!"

                Amanda started at the floor for a while, then nodded, reluctantly. Xavier turned away from the phone and said, 'I've called a lawyer. He'll meet us at the jail." 

                Amanda stayed sitting there despondently as Xavier and Jean rushed out. She couldn't stand the thought of Hank, stuck in a tiny jail cell. She sat there, tears falling from her eyes into a silvery pool at her feet on the floor, as she heard Logan and Jubilee slam out of the house on their way to Bruce's apartment.

                A thought occurred to her. It was summer. Bruce wouldn't be in his apartment now; he'd be at his parents' summer home outside the city on the river. Logan and Jubilee wouldn't find him. She'd have to go talk to him.

                She ran up the stairs to her room, grabbed the keys to her car, and ran out to the garage.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Bruce sat back in his easy chair, talking to the man sitting in front of him. "Oh, yes, I agree completely," he nodded to Jason Frank, head of the New York branch of the Friends of Humanity. "The mutant problem needs to be nipped in the bud. And this virus…it's ability to change people into mutants is a terrible blow to humankind."

                The doorbell rang at just that moment, and he turned toward the door. "I wonder who that could be?" he said wonderingly. He went to the door.

                Amanda pushed her way into the house, past Bruce, and slammed the door. "You've done some horrible things before, Bruce, but this time you've definitely gone too far." She turned to face him. "I love Hank. How dare you accuse him of such a terrible thing?"

                Bruce found his voice. "Amanda?" he stared incredulously at her. "Is that you?"

                "Who did you think I was, the tooth fairy?" she snapped. "I came to tell you to retract what you said. The virus is mine. The research is mine. And you know perfectly well that I'm trying to reverse engineer the virus so anyone who doesn't want to become a mutant doesn't have to be. There was no need for you to go and tell everyone the research was yours! And for your information, my transformation was an accident, not because Hank forced me! He's not you!"

                Frank got up from his chair, walking over to Bruce's side. "So this is what your former fiancée really looks like," he commented. Pretty if you're looking at her from a mutant point of view. But from the human point of view, it's obscene." He looked her over. "It could be remedied easily," he said. "Removal of the wings, an then a tattooing over every inch of her skin with colored pigments to make her look like a normal human…we could return her to at least the appearance of how she looked before."

                Amanda stared with wide eyes. "You mean…you did this…just to get me?"

                'Of course." Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped forward. "I want you back. Amanda. You're mine. Isn't it natural to want something of yours back?"

                "Yes." Amanda didn't step away. "So tell everyone it was all a mistake so the police will let Hank go."

                Too late, she felt the sharp pain of a needle in her arm. The last thing she saw as she fell to the floor was Bruce's smile. "I never let my possessions go. Don't you remember that, Amanda?"


	7. The Friends of Humanity

Chapter 7: The Friends of Humanity

                Amanda moaned.

                The first thing she was aware of as she awoke was the fact that she was cold. Then came the fact that she was hurting. She tried to open her eyes, but found that something was preventing her from doing that. 

                "Bruce!" she screamed, thankful at least that she wasn't gagged. "Get me out of here, Bruce! I swear I'm going to kill you!"

                There was a movement near her face, a slight breath of air against her cheek, and she felt a hand pull off the cloth tied tightly around her head, covering her eyes. "Not really in a position to be making threats, are you?" came Bruce's voice, mildly sarcastic.

                Amanda squinted. She was hanging in the middle of a circle of light, thick metal shackles fastened around her wrists and ankles, and chains running off from them out into the darkness. The cold came from the fact that she was completely nude; the pain from the fact that she was spread-eagled in midair, the chains attached to her shackles pulled so tight her muscles were screaming. The surrounding area was so dark she couldn't see anything outside the circle of light, but she got the impression of a large space. And she also got the impression that there was someone else out there in that darkness. "Hello?" she called out. "If there's someone else out there, tell this maniac to let me go!"

                A harsh laugh came up out of the darkness, and Jason Frank stepped into the light. He walked around her, languidly smoking his cigar, and came to a stop finally in front of her. He looked her up and down, his greedy eyes devouring every inch of her nude body, and laughed unpleasantly again. "You think we should let this mutie freak go?" he said loudly.

                "No!" came a chorus of voices. Amanda would have jumped in shock if she hadn't been so tightly restrained. The room was a lot larger than she had thought, and there were a lot more people in it than she had guessed.

                "Tell me," the man said, walking around her again, "Do you like the way you look now? Your fiancé showed me pictures of what you looked like before you changed. You were almost pretty then; now you're a misshapen, ugly freak." He stopped behind her, and leaned in over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. "You can't like the way you look now."

                It was on the tip of her tongue to say she hated the way she looked, but she reconsidered. She suddenly realized that she didn't mind anymore; in fact, she did like her looks. She loved being able to fly; she loved the free feeling she got when she flew. "I don't mind it," she said finally. "I did at first; but now it's not as bad. I love being able to fly."

                "You like looking like a freak? You like the stares you get?" he stood back, resumed his slow pacing around her. "How about that bottle my friend threw at you in the airport terminal? Did you like that?"

                "Absolutely not!" Amanda struggled in her bonds, but succeeded only in dragging the shackles through the abrasions on her wrists again. Her hands were numb; she couldn't feel her fingers or toes anymore, and her arm and leg muscles were shaking from the strain. She bit her lip.

                He saw the movement. "Feeling a bit uncomfortable?" he said. "How do you think we humans feel when confronted with your kind in the airport? Or a bus, or a school. Or a shopping mall? We're just as uncomfortable around your kind." He took a long, thoughtful drag on his cigar. "You ever had a small pain somewhere, like a paper cut, and then you get injured somewhere else, and the first pain doesn't seem so bad anymore? Well, it works the same way for us. We feel damned uncomfortable with your kind around; but when we get the chance to strike out at you, and we take that opportunity, the pain we feel eases a bit."

                Amanda felt him grab her left wing; the nerves in the veining, though widely spaced and not as sensitive as other nerves in her body, were still sensitive enough to pick up touch. He ran his hand down the high arch of the wing, then took the cigar out of his mouth and pressed it against an area of her wing thick with veining.

                For a second she was silent. Then agony exploded in her wing and she screamed hysterically as the smell of burning leaves filled her nose. Frank held the cigar to her wing for a moment more, then withdrew it. Amanda turned her head to look at her wing, and saw the burned, scorched black hole disfiguring the rainbow sheen on her wing. He put the cigar back in his mouth, puffed on it while he examined the ragged scorch mark, then went over to her other side and grasped her right wing.

                "No, oh God, please don't, it hurts, please aaahhhHHH!" Amanda screamed out as her other wing was burned through. When she could finally hold her head up again, and she risked a look back, she saw another hole.

                Frank grinned. He reached for a cup sitting on a stool just inside the circle of light behind her, and took an ice cube from the cup as the laughter and jeers from the unseen audience increased. He pressed the ice to the area immediately around the burned hole.

                Amanda sighed as the cold numbed away the pain from the burn, then began to squirm frantically again as the cold itself started to burn. "Stop it," she sobbed. "Oh, stop, please, take it off, it hurts, please--"

                "You want it off?" Frank said. Amanda squirmed frantically, the anguish in her stretched muscles and her shackled wrists forgotten in the greater agony from her now irreparably damaged wings. Her sobs increased as she nodded her head.

                Frank took the ice off and applied his cigar directly to the cold-numbed spot. The conflict between heat and cold momentarily overloaded the nerves in her wing, and it was a few seconds before she felt the agony. She screamed and screamed as he did the same thing to her other wing, and didn't even notice when Frank stepped back and was replaced by her ex-fiancé.

                "Bruce, please," Amanda sobbed, lifting her tear-streaked face to meet his. "Please let me go. I loved you; I thought you loved me. Why are you hurting me like this?"

                Bruce laughed scornfully. "Amanda, whatever made you think I loved you?" he said. "Because I agreed to marry you? Because I let you use my labs for your research? Wrong. I did all that because I wanted to see where you would go with that research.

                "I'm a member of the Friends of Humanity. We believe that mutie freaks like you've become, and freaks like your furry boyfriend, should be exterminated. Your kind are just freaks of nature; you shouldn't be allowed to exist. I wanted to keep an eye out on that virus you were working on; I figured some mutie somewhere would give you some sort of bleeding-heart story and try to get you to give up the virus so they could use it in their plans to take over from us humans. And they did, didn't they? Wherever it is you've been hiding, they made you into one of them and then convinced you to give up your virus. 

                "Now you're going to do the same. Amanda, the one thing I never managed to find out was where in the rainforest you found that virus. You're going to tell me where it was discovered so that I can go and destroy it. Then your mutie friends can't use it. Have you told them where you discovered it?"

                "No. And I'm not telling you, either. Bruce, you don't understand. This virus…I never intended it to be used to convert humans; it can't be used like that, because there's no way to tell which humans re human and which ones are carriers like me. I want to rewrite its genetic code so that it will code for the human gene instead of the mutant one so that mutants who have uncontrollable mutations they don't want aren't forced to stay mutants if they don't want to be."

                Bruce paused for a second, looking at her uncertainly, then laughed. "That's impossible," he said.

                "How would you know? Bruce, you don't have a degree in biogenetics. You have a degree in physics. I read that article in the paper; I know what you told the reporter, and you lied. You don't have a genetics degree, so how would you what is possible and what isn't?"

                Bruce slapped her, hard. "Shut up," he snarled. "Your time with those muties warped your mind. They brainwashed you. I bet they screwed you too, didn't they? How about that big blue freak? How's he feel? You have that big thing of his in your filthy body? Huh? You defiled yourself with him?"

                Amanda spat at him. She didn't have good aim, and it landed somewhat short of its intended goal (his face) but it made a nice wet patch on his shirt. "And how many women did you 'defile' yourself with while you were engaged to me? I know about Candi. Remember her? The whore you paid two thousand dollars to 'escort' you to Las Vegas for a week? How many other women were there? I stayed faithful to you, Bruce! I loved you! How could you say you loved me and plan our wedding when you were sleeping around with someone else?" She sighed. "You disgust me, Bruce. Get me out of here, now!"

                Bruce shook his head. "No, Amanda," he said. "You need to be taught a lesson. I'm going to enjoy hearing your screams." He cupped her chin in his hands and fastened his lips on hers, raping her mouth with a hard, brutal kiss that left her lips bruised. He turned away, rolling up his sleeves as Jason Frank wheeled in a small table with a number of instruments on it. Amanda's eyes widened as he picked up a length of silver bike chain.

                When he put that down Amanda was choking on her sobs, and the cacophony of jeers in the darkness beyond the spotlight she hung in was deafening. Under the harsh white light her skin looked unmarked, but there were patches of darkness all over her body that promised to turn into spectacular purple-black bruises later. Bruce hadn't cut her; he'd used the bike chain like a club, pounding into tightly-stretched, aching muscles until Amanda screamed for him to stop.

                He walked around her, looking at her and touching the bruises he'd left on her body. He touched the bruise he'd left on her back, in the sensitive spot between her wings, and she cried out. Interested, he stroked her there again, listening to her cry of pain. "So you're especially sensitive there, eh, Amanda?" 

                He returned to the cart, picked up a length electrical cord with the insulation peeled back to expose the copper wire, and returned to his place behind her. He drew his arm back and then brought the bare wire forward in a quick snapping motion that buried its ends into the thin skin of her back. Amanda jerked in agony, screaming hoarsely, as the first drops of blood welled up on her skin. By the time Bruce put the cord down and wiped the sweat from his forehead, Amanda was almost unconscious.

                Jason grinned as he picked up a bucket of hot salt water. "Oh, no," he said to Bruce. "We can't have her passing out before the grand finale, can we?" he dashed the contents of the bucket over the limp hanging body, and both men watched as Amanda regained consciousness screaming in pain as the salt stung the wounds on her back.

                Frank wedged a bar of wood between Amanda's teeth, then took the straps and tied it around her head. "You'll thank me for this in a little bit," he said to her, as she made choked sounds from around the dowel in her mouth. He picked up a scalpel and a knife (almost more a machete, really) from the cart, and offered them to Bruce. "Which one?" he said.

                Bruce took the scalpel. Frank took the knife, and they turned and walked around to her back. Though Amanda couldn't see it, a large television screen turned on behind her, showing the audience an up-close view of her back. Her wings were splattered with tiny drops of blood. Frank wiped them away with a damp cloth, then went over to a small brazier and lit it. When it was blazing, he shoved the knife into it and watched as the blade heated up.

                Bruce looked at the blood-streaked back thoughtfully, ignoring the heaving shoulders. As tightly stretched as Amanda was, he could see the muscles and tendons in her back clearly, and he traced the big tendon that connected her wings to her shoulderblades with his finger thoughtfully before he dug the scalpel delicately into the white skin.

                Amanda screamed in agony. Her teeth clamped down hard on the wooden dowel in her mouth, but it did little to assuage the incredible pain in her bag. Bruce worked the scalpel through muscle, flesh, and tendons, cutting out and severing everything connecting her wings to her body. It hurt so much Amanda barely saw the bloody, tattered remnants of her upper right wing hit the floor, followed soon by her upper left wing, and then both her lower wings. She passed out twice, only to be revived by Bruce jabbing the point of the scalpel into the bundle of nerve fibers left exposed as he cut out her wings.

                The cheers and shouts of the unseen audience were deafening when the two men finally stood back. Blood flowed freely down Amanda's back, making a huge puddle under the floor, and she could no longer scream; it simply hurt too much. She thought she couldn't hurt anymore than she was; but she was wrong.

                "We don't want her to die from blood loss," Frank commented finally as Bruce poked the exposed nerve fibers with his scalpel. He took the long-knife out of the brazier carefully and brought it over. Bruce took it from him and pressed the white-hot blade against the gaping holes in Amanda's back.

                She went wild. There was an audible pop as her right arm, yanking wildly against the unyielding chain, popped out of its socket. Frank grinned, shoved the knife back into the brazier for a few seconds, and then pressed it against the other hole in her back. The heavy metallic scent of hot blood and burning flesh filled the air, and Bruce waved a hand under his nose as he surveyed the limp body in front of him. Amanda had passed out, and there was no waking her this time.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Hank jerked awake on his cot in the jail cell. He had fallen into a light doze, and had the most terrible nightmare…

                As he rubbed his hands over his face, he reviewed the dream in his mind. Bruce couldn't be that cruel. Could he? Hank tried to tell himself it was a dream; but the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn't go away, and it was accompanied by an impression of impending doom. Away in the back of his mind, he knew that Amanda was in trouble.

                He sprang to his feet as a guard came to his cell door, followed by Xavier and Jean. "Your bail's been posted," the guard said gruffly. "You can go."

                Hank ignored him, turning to Xavier. "Where is she," he asked Charles urgently. "Where's Amanda? She's in trouble; I know she's in trouble. I just saw her...in a dream…Bruce was there…he cut out her wings…"

                "Hank, where? Do you know where? She's been missing since yesterday; we think she went out to confront Bruce. Jubilee and Logan went to his apartment, but he wasn't there. We're trying to find her. Charles tried using Cerebro, but he couldn't find her. She might be somewhere shielded. Do you know where she might be?"

                "In my vision, Bruce was being assisted by the head of the Friends of Humanity. We will most likely find her there." Hank increased his pace.

                Xavier's eyes went briefly unfocused, and Hank 'heard' the telepathic all in his hed. **X-Men! Meet us at the Friends of Humanity's headquarters! Hank believes Amanda is there!**

                It wasn't belief. Hank knew she would be there, and he knew what they would find. He could only hope they weren't too late.


	8. Escape

Chapter 8: Escape

                Amanda woke screaming.

                She'd never thought anything could hurt this much; the only thing that even came close was the transformation she had undergone due to the virus, and she'd thought that was the worst pain she could ever experience.

                She was wrong.

                She felt a needle in her arm, and soon a wonderful numbness spread out from the injection, dulling the pain a bit. Not taking it away entirely, but at least she could stop screaming and figure out where she was now.

                She was lying face-down on a bed, her wrists tied to the headboard, her feet tied to the foot. It was better than where she was before, she thought, and began to struggle a bit, trying to find slack in her bonds so she could escape. 

                Someone walked around to the top of the bed, and she twisted, trying to see who it was. "Help me," she tried to say, but it came out as a harsh croak.

                Bruce squatted down in front of her. "Hello, my dear," he said. Amanda yanked back on her bonds, trying to get herself free. Bruce laughed. "You're not going anywhere, Amanda," he said, sitting down on the bed beside her. He studied the raw gashes on her back, then reached out and touched one of them, stroking a finger lightly down the exposed, cauterized skin. Amanda howled in anguish, struggling, until he took his hand away. "Does that feel better, my dear? Yes? Well, unless you want me to touch you there again, tell me where the virus was discovered."

                Amanda shook her head numbly. Bruce touched her burned flesh again.

                He did it again, and again, and again. Finally, unable to take the pain anymore, she told him. "It was discovered in the rainforest, in Brazil. A _tepui _is kind of like a plateau, like something you'd see in the Grand Canyon, or somewhere like that.  A tableland. It would have been formed by a gradual erosion of soil which finally left a plateau that would be difficult, if not impossible, to ascend or descend. Any animals or plants living on there would have become trapped there, and eventually over a long period of time would have followed a different evolutionary path. That means that the flora and fauna of the _tepui_ would be unique to that plateau only. A similar plateau only a short distance away would have an entirely different ecosystem. That's where the algae containing this virus was discovered. The algae was named for the man who discovered it, and I've been calling the virus Maxwell's virus, informally."

                "Exact location, my dear," he said, applying pressure to her back again. She screamed and screamed, then finally gave in. In a harsh whisper, she gave him the latitude and longitude of the _tepui._

                He sat back, satisfied, and picked up one of her tears, examining the rainbow crystal. "See, dear, that was all you had to do," he said. "You just had to tell me where you found it."

                "What are you going to do?" Amanda asked in a voice barely above a whisper. 

                "I'm going to destroy it. From what you told me, the species of flora and fauna on a _tepui_ are unique, and found nowhere else, so if I destroy it, pollute the pond and burn the algae on top of it, then no one will have access to it any more. Your mutie freak friends won't have any more samples from which to make a serum to infect the rest of us." He held the crystal up to the light. "You know, Amanda, this is really pretty. I wonder what I might be able to sell it for. Maybe if there's a practical use for it I'll keep you alive--" He paused, as if listening, and then suddenly sprang off into the darkness, leaving her alone.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                It wasn't really necessary to take the Blackbird out. The FOH headquarters were only thirty minutes away from the mansion. 

                Hank brought it up, but Xavier shook his head as they waited for the others to arrive. Scott and Jean were out in the city enjoying some time off together; Ororo, Rogue, Remy, and Betsy were off doing the weekly grocery shopping. Xavier was doing the preflight inspection in the observation room outside the Blackbird's hangar while Hank paced uneasily beside him. "Charles, I can go myself," he started to say for the tenth time, but Xavier interrupted him.

                "Hank, you are one of the X-Men. What concerns you concerns all of us. We have all grown quite attached to Amanda in the time she has been here; just because she is not one of us does not mean that we should not help her if she is in trouble. And if she has been captured by the Friends of Humanity, you will need help getting her out of their hands, because, while they may be human, they have weapons and numbers against us."

                "We could go in the van…" Hanks said, but Charles shook his head again. 

                "Again, no," he said firmly. "If Amanda is hurt and needs medical attention, the van will not have sufficient room or equipment to care for her injuries. I would hope that we would find her in reasonably good condition; however, should your dream prove to be true, she will need your help and that of the Shi'ar medical equipment." He sat back in his wheelchair, looking uneasy. "Hank, I wish I could tell you that Amanda is all right. However, the Friends of Humanity are fanatically devoted to their cause, and that devotion could lead then to commit acts that most of us can't even dream of. Look at the Holocaust. There are times when I fear that at the rate humanity is going, there will be a second Holocaust, only this time it will not be racial minorities, it will be mutants. And that possibility makes me very much afraid."

                Hank sighed. "I have often thought the same thing, Charles, but right now I find that my mind is completely focused on rescuing Amanda. What say we save the discussion for later?"

                "Yes. If I am not mistaken, then, the others are coming." Xavier turned as Hank started to run out to the hangar. "Hank…"

                Hank paused. "Yes?"

                There were a million different things Xavier wanted to say to prepare Hank for the shock he was almost certain Hank was going to confront, but he settled for a simple, "Good luck." The two words, however brief, carried with them the weight of Xavier's feelings.

                Hank paused for a moment, searching for something to say, then nodded and went out.

                Everyone was uncharacteristically silent as they got in. Scott took the pilot's seat, Ororo took the co-pilot's chair, and everyone else got strapped into his or hers accustomed  seat. Hank was drumming his fingers on the armrest of his seat, in nervous agitation, and didn't even realize he was doing it until Jean reached over and touched his hand. He looked up at her, in apology, and she smiled gently, sending him warm feelings of calm and reassurance, and said, "Hank. I'm sure she'll be all right. Maybe it was just a dream."

                "Do you really believe that, Jean?" he asked.

                She hesitated. "No," she finally said, her voice sounding worried. "Neither Amanda nor you are telepathic, so what transpired between you is not mutant power based. It's something else, something much deeper. I have no doubt that in some way, when she was in trouble she reached out to you, and that was what you saw. I hope I'm wrong; I hope we get there and find her whole and unharmed, but I'm not counting on it." She finished quietly, "I'm sorry, Hank."

                He said nothing, returning his gaze to the window as the Blackbird cleared its hangar and made a wide, graceful turn back toward the city.

                The FOH headquarters were massively built, a squat, ugly red brick structure that dominated the buildings around it. Scott had no trouble finding the place; when its founder had the building built, a large helipad had been built on the roof, and its design stood out like a bull's-eye. Hank thanked the Blackbird's designers silently for designing the plane with vertical landing capability as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

                There was a hail of gunfire as the loading hatch of the blackbird opened. Ororo quickly created a thick fog inside the compartment, obscuring the disembarking X-Men and momentarily confusing the FOH. They stopped firing, confused for a moment, then raised their guns uncertainly to their shoulders again. Not long, but it was enough.

                Jean's telekinetic shield prevented the bullets from reaching the 'ground crew' as Ororo's fog obscured and prevented the waiting FOH soldiers from taking out any of the 'sky crew': Warren, Ororo, and Rogue surveyed the scene from under cover of the fog, then attacked. Flying high above the rooftop, they swung out over the city in an arc, coming down behind the unprepared soldiers.

                Rogue yanked the gun out of one soldier's hand, using it to club the side of his head. He went down, unconscious, and she dropped the gun in disgust, brushing her hands off, as Warren scooped a man up by the back of his jacket and flew off with him. He dropped the man onto a scaffolding attached to a nearby building, then flew back to pick up the next man, dropping him onto the same scaffolding. One man turned and tried to shoot him, but Warren banked, swerving neatly out of the way, and yanked the gun away from the man. Ororo picked three men up off the rooftop and spun them around in a whirlwind until they were dizzy, and then dropped them as she struck another man with a mini-thunderbolt.

                Scott's optic beams, meanwhile, were frying the guns aimed at him and the rest of the ground bound X-Men. One soldier yelped as his weapon became too hot to handle; then watched in disbelief as the gun became a melted puddle of slag on the rooftop. Protected by Jean's telekinetic shield, Remy grinned devilishly as he walked up to another man and grabbed the barrel of the rifle in his hand. He widened his eyes so that the man could get a good look at his eyes, red pupils on black irises, and the man quaked for a second in terror. Remy channeled his kinetic energy into the weapon and exploded it. The man's eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out in terror. Remy grinned. "Sleep tight, _homme,"_ he grinned, and turned back to the fight.

                There wasn't much of the fight left. Men wearing the FOH uniform were running toward the door in the rooftop, pounding on it futilely as they tried to get in, and away from the X-Men. Remy grinned. While he was playing with his victim, he had seen the door open, and a man poked his head out. He must have realized that the FOH were going to be on the losing end, because he'd quickly withdrawn his head. Presumably he'd also locked the door behind him, trying to stop the X-Men's advance into the FOH headquarters.

                As if locks had ever kept the X-Men out of anywhere. 

                Hank grabbed the front of one man's jacket. "Where is she?" he snarled. The man started at him, unable to say a word. Jean ruthlessly probed his mind, causing him to crumple to his knees and hold his head as she rummaged through his brain, plucking the knowledge she wanted out of his head. "Phoenix," Hank said as she stumbled a bit. 

She held out a hand in a 'stop' gesture, shook her head once as if to clear it, and said, "Downstairs. Third floor."

Scott said quickly, "Storm, Angel, stay here. Guard these men. See that they don't try to follow us, and be ready for a quick takeoff. Gambit; get the lock on that door."

Remy placed a hand on the lock, and the others backed up cautiously as the door began to glow red. In a matter of seconds, it blew apart, metal shards flying everywhere. Jean just barely had time to get a teke shield in place to protect them all from flying debris, but it went down quick enough as she and Scott took point going down the dark stairwell.

Logan sniffed, and growled. "I smell Garrett," he growled. 

Hank and Jubilee blinked. "He's here?" Jubilee was annoyed. "I thought we warned that skunk to stay away from Amanda!" She shook her head. "Obviously he needs another reminder!"

Ahead of them, they heard pounding footsteps. Unable to see who it was, Jean nevertheless threw a shield across the hallway in front of the running figure, and there was a muttered 'oomph' as whoever it was ran into the invisible barrier. He was standing in front of it, searching for a way out when Hank grabbed the back of the jacket and turned him around.

It was Jason Frank, the current leader of New York's branch of the Friends of Humanity. "Where are they?" Hank growled at him, blue fur bristling in anger. Everyone stood discretely back. Hank didn't get mad often; he was a fairly level-headed, even-tempered guy. But when he did get angry, the havoc he could wreak on anything around him rivaled Logan's propensity for damage. 

Hank shook the man so hard his teeth rattled. "Where are they?"

Jason Frank's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "D-d-downstairs." He whispered through a mouth gone dry in terror. "It wasn't my idea! It was Bruce's! He didn't want anyone to say he's polluted himself with a mutie freak, so he wanted her changed so she wouldn't look like gene-trash and…" Hank smashed a fist into Frank's face, cutting off the man's words as he dropped the unconscious body to the floor.

"Bruce!" Jubilee suddenly called out, running ahead of them to pursue a figure that had come racing out of a door almost all the way down the hall. "Bruce, I swear I'm going to kill you--" but the man was racing down the stairs, too far ahead of them and too fast for them to catch them. Hank didn't bother; he turned to the door Bruce had come out of and pushed it open.

Amanda lay there, on a hard, tiny, uncomfortable cot, her ankles lashed to the end, her arms tied to each of its upper corners. She was nude, except for a sheet that was pulled halfway up her legs, and she was unconscious, or…worse…Hank crossed the room in two great bounds, snapping the chain that held her wrist shackles to the cot's metal frame, and released her legs. He bent over her back, trying desperately to hold back tears as he saw the blackened, scorched flesh sluggishly oozing blood where her wings used to be. "Amanda," he whispered, "Oh, Amanda, what did they do to you?" 

He didn't realize he was crying until her hand came up weakly to touch the damp track on his face. "Hank," she whispered, in a voice that barely sounded like her own, it was coming from a throat almost ruined by screaming. "Oh, God, Hank…"

He stared down at her, his face filled with disbelief. "Amanda? You're alive?"

"Barely," she whispered. "Hank….oh, Hank, they…they took my wings, Hank…I'll never fly again…I'm not pretty Hank…do you still love me?"

He hugged her body to him, not caring anymore that tears were streaming down his face, not caring that the rest of the X-Men were watching. Amanda was alive, she had survived this incredible ordeal, and he swore that no one would ever hurt his beloved Amanda again. "I love you," he whispered as he stared at the blackened holes in her back, "I don't care if you have wings or not, I'll always love you."

"I love you, too." Amanda struggled up to a sitting position, whimpering a little as the gashes in her back oozed a little. Hank grabbed the sheet off the floor, gave it a cursory glance to see that it was clean, and draped it gingerly over her shoulders. Her legs shook as she tried to stand, from hunger, pain, exhaustion, and dehydration, and he slid an arm under her knees and picked her up. She slung one of her arms over his shoulder, the other hanging down limply, and he figured it must be dislocated by the position of the bones under her skin.

"Let's go home," he said to her gently.


	9. Proposal

Chapter 9: Proposal

                Hank watched as Amanda rolled over in bed to lie on her stomach. Even though there were no wings there anymore, sometimes in her sleep she'd lie like there was. He sighed as her new position revealed the heavy white bandages taped to her shoulders. Hank kept the area where her wings used to be well-medicated so she wouldn't feel the pain, but nerves exposed the way hers had been didn't numb easily, and she twitched slightly.

                He rolled over on his back in bed, tears in his eyes. No one should have to suffer so much. It wasn;'t fair. Why Amanda? She had been living a normal life (not happy, but normal) until she had met Jubilee, and by extension, the rest of the X-Men. Then Magneto had mutated her with her own virus, causing her incredible pain. And now she was suffering again, this time from having her wings cut out.

                When they had first brought her home, Hank had been tossing around possible designs for a set of prosthetic wings, because their loss seemed to bother her so much. A close inspection of her back, done after he had put her to sleep to avoid hurting her, had dashed those hopes. Bruce had cut out not only the wing, but the muscles and tendons that had been attached to the wings too. Even if he made prosthetic wings for her, she wouldn't be able to use them.

                Then an infection set into the wounds, and Hank had sat by her side in the med lab for a week as her fever soared and she became delirious. And he'd been shocked. She wasn't concerned for the loss of the wings for herself; she was worried that he wouldn't love her anymore because she didn't have her wings. When she woke up, he had tried his hardest to convince her that he still loved her, but he still got the feeling that somehow the message hadn't gotten through.

                While she was unconscious with fever he had taken samples of her skin and was growing grafts to implant over the open wounds on her back. Until they were ready, the bandages would have to suffice.

                He looked across the bed to where Amanda was still twitching. Not pain, then, thank goodness, but a nightmare. Amanda didn't move around much in her sleep; she tended to just lie in one place, occasionally rolling over. As a result, he'd initially had a hard time figuring out when she had nightmares, because she didn't cry out in her sleep like Logan said Jubilee did occasionally. Now, however, having slept beside Amanda for the better part of a year, he knew when she was having bad dreams, just as she knew when he was having bad dreams.

                He stared at the ceiling. It seemed to be a night for it. He'd been awakened from a nightmare of Amanda hanging there screaming as the scalpel dug into her back. It still evoked as much horror in him as it had when he had woken from what he'd thought then was a nightmare back in jail. He had, since then, become aware of an extra bond between them; he knew when she was in pain, he knew when she was sad, he knew when she was happy. It mystified him; he couldn't figure it out, and neither could Jean and the Professor. They had finally decided that it was a deeper, soul-bond, and left it at that. It disturbed Hank sometimes; it was so much worse to see what had been done to Amanda than to have the same thing done to him, but at the same time, he could empathize, knowing what she had gone through.

                He looked at her, saw the silvery tears on her face, and his heart contracted. He hated seeing her cry; and she had been doing far too much of it lately. He reached over to her, shook her shoulder gently. "Amanda? Amanda, wake up. It's all right, beloved; you're safe. You're here with me; it's over. I'll never let anyone hurt you again." Her silver eyes opened, still misted with tears and the remnants of her dream, and he sat up in bed, taking her shoulders and pulling her upright. She sat on the bed between his parted thighs, her back against his broad chest, and he wrapped his arms around her as she shook with silent sobs. "Sshh," he said quietly, resting his head on the curve of her shoulder in an intimate caress that He knew Amanda loved. She had been married before; but there hadn't been a lot of intimacy with her husband; and there had been even less with Bruce. Amanda loved being hugged, touched, and caressed by him; and he was only too happy to oblige her. Her tears fell in a hard silvery rain in front of her on the bed, and he held out a tissue in front of her to catch them. She finally stopped crying, and they lay back down. 

                She turned to him, kissed him tentatively, almost hesitantly. He wasn't really feeling like it, but he knew if he refused she would take that as a rejection. And he didn't mind, really.

                She went back to sleep after they were done, but he couldn't. He slid quietly out of bed, slipped his legs into his pants, and padded quietly from his room down toward the kitchen for a snack. He stopped, slightly surprised, when he saw that a few of the mansion's other residents obviously couldn't sleep either.

                Betsy, Warren, Jubilee, and Xavier sat around the kitchen table, tucking into a mountain of sandwiches and a pot of soup. Jubilee saw him standing in the door and waved him in. "Come on in, Hank. Hey, how's Amanda?"

                Hank sat down in one of the chairs and eyed the sandwiches. Jubilee pushed the plate over to him, and he selected one. "As well as can be expected," he said. "She is still coping with the physical aftermath  of having her wings removed--"

                "I know how she's doing physically," Jubilee said. "How is she doing emotionally? Is she still worried that you don't love her?"

                Hank sighed. "I have never been good with feelings, Jubilee," he said, putting his sandwich down. "Amanda is extremely insecure. It is not surprising, considering how upsetting her past relationships have been, but she and I have been 'together' as you put it, for so long I would have thought she would not worry about the state of my feelings for her."

                "How do you feel?" Betsy was watching Hank intently.

                "I love her," Hank said simply. "She is everything I have ever admired in a woman; everything I have ever looked for or wanted. It hurt to realize just how close I came to losing her; Bruce could have easily killed her with a little slip of a knife when he was amputating her wings, and later, when she was so ill with the infection…" his voice trailed off and he took a swallow of his hot tea, ignoring the way it scalded his mouth. Maybe it would take away the bitter taste of the fear he had felt as he kept vigil at her side, praying for her to make it through each day.

                Jubilee said suddenly, 'So why don't you show her what she means to you?"

                Hank looked at her, puzzled. "I do," he said. "Every day. I am there for her whenever she needs me; she should know how much I love her."

                Betsy gave a small smile. "Hank, how long have you two been together?"

                That stumped him. How long had it been? He tried to think.

                "A year two weeks ago," Betsy answered her own question. "A year and two weeks. Hank, I know guys don't think about this; but did you do anything to celebrate that little milestone with her?"

                Hank shook his head. "No," he said. "What should I have done?"

                Betsy smiled. "Dinner might be a nice start," she said gently. "And maybe one of these." He scrabbled around in the pile of papers and stuff in the middle of the table until she came out with one of the women's magazines that Hank had seen Amanda with a few times. Betsy opened the magazine, leafed through it, and then shoved the open magazine across the table at him.

                Hank looked at the open page. It was an ad for a nice jewelers in New York; and in the middle of the page was a lovely diamond ring. A round princess-cut diamond, he noted, set in eighteen carat gold. The caption read, 'A special ring…for the special woman in your life.' He looked up at Betsy, startled.

                Betsy nodded, smiling, and he noticed that Charles and Warren were smiling too. "Amanda really likes that ring. I was actually looking a it a while ago, and I showed it to her, and she looked at it. Hank, she said, 'If you can get someone to buy that for you you'd be the luckiest girl on earth.' And later she showed me her jewelry. The engagement ring her first husband gave her was gold-plated sterling silver; and Bruce didn't even bother getting her a diamond; he bought her a silver and onyx ring. She hates it. She never wore it." Betsy took a spoonful of her soup. "Warren did buy it for me, completely spontaneously, a week later. I still don't know how he knew I'd like it; but here it is." Hank looked at it as Betsy showed it to him, winking on her finger. It was prettier than it looked in the picture. The stone wasn't big enough to get in Amanda's way when she was mixing chemicals in the lab; and it was pretty. Hank knew she'd like it.

                "But she's been through so much," he said. "I don't want to shock her again. And what if…" this was a big worry for him, "What if she says no?"

                Jubilee looked at Betsy. Betsy looked at Warren. Warren looked at Charles. And all three started to laugh. "You don't honestly think she's going to say no, do you?" Jubilee wiped her eyes. "Oh, my. Is that what's worrying you?"

                Mystified, Hank nodded. Jubilee went off into another fit of laughter. Betsy asked him,, "Hank, whatever makes you think Amanda's going to say no?"

                "She's been through so much. I know she says she loves me…but well, look at me. She's so pretty, so delicate and gentle, and I'm--" He didn't get any further. Jubilee stood up and smacked the back of his head, none too gently, either.

                "Hank! My God, look at the two of you! So much alike. She's worried to death that you think she's ugly; and you think she thinks you're ugly! Let me clue you in, Hank. She doesn't care what you look like. You don't care what she looks like. So what's the hold up?" Jubilee crossed her arms and sat back. "Will you two just get over it already!"

                Hank looked again at the ring. Charles said quietly, "Hank, if you love her as much as she loves you, then don't let anything stop you. In her current emotional state, she might actually welcome this symbol of your love for her. If you love her, go ahead. Get it for her."

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Hank wandered up and down the jewelry cases. The ring was prominently displayed in the front window; but he also wanted to get her something else. Nothing to do with any promises or commitments, just something she would like for her pleasure only. Warren and Betsy walked along beside him, pointing things out, but Hank didn't need their help, after all. He saw a lovely necklace and bracelet set in a far case against the wall; gold swirled elegantly and fluidly around four tear-shaped diamonds. It looked like the tie-clip she had given him; and he knew it would be perfect. When the salesman came over, he pointed out the necklace and bracelet, and then the ring. As the man was ringing up and bagging the purchases, Betsy pointed out a pair of earrings; four tear-shaped diamonds clustered together. Hank looked rather wistfully at them. They were perfect; but he had just maxed out his cards getting the necklace and bracelet for her; he couldn't afford the earrings too. 

                They grabbed a quick bite to eat at the restaurant at the mall, and then were almost out to the car when Warren groaned theatrically and grabbed his stomach. "I have to use the men's room," he said, doubled over so Hank couldn't see his face and winking at Betsy. "You two go on. I'll be back soon."

"I did not think he should have had that spicy fried chicken," Hank said mildly, watching Warren run off back toward the mall. He and Betsy got into the car, and it wasn't long before Warren joined them. Hank was concentrating on the road, so he didn't see Warren slipping the earrings into his bag.

                Once home, Hank took the bag up to his room. He frowned when he saw three boxes in there instead of two. Upon opening the extra box, he was stunned to discover the earrings nestled in the black velvet. Tucked inside was a piece of paper, with Warren's handwriting on it. _Hey Hank. You owe me one. Warren._

                Hank closed the box with a smile. Yes, he owed Warren one.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Amanda sighed. "Jubilee, I really don't feel like eating downstairs with everyone tonight," she sighed as she slipped into a loose-fitting blouse and skirt. "And why are you making me wear a skirt? Is there something going on I don't know about?"

                Jubilee grinned as she fussed with Amanda's hair. "Oh yes. Believe me, you're not going to want to miss this. Two of the X-men are getting engaged tonight; it's going to be an engagement party. So you have to look good."

                "Really?" Amanda tried to guess who might be getting engaged. Maybe Betsy and Warren. She'd seen Betsy with a new ring, the same one she had admired in a magazine a while ago. Maybe Warren had bought it for her privately, and was planning to publicly announce their engagement at dinner. She sighed and sat down. If Jubilee was so determined there wasn't a whole lot she could do to deflate her enthusiasm.

                She sat at her usual seat beside Hank that evening. He insisted on getting up and getting her plate from the kitchen, even though she told him she could get it herself. She was so busy watching Betsy and Warren that it was a complete surprise when she lifted the water glass Hank gave her and something hard fell into her mouth.

                She spit it out into her hand, spluttering in surprise, and stared stupefied at the diamond in her hand. She stared at it for a moment, then raised her eyes and looked at Hank, sitting beside her and looking at her hopefully. The ring clattered to her plate as she threw her arms around him, joy filling her heart. She loved him, so much, and now she knew he loved her, no matter what she looked like. "I love you," she whispered in his ear. "And yes, I'll marry you."

                Hank took her face in his hands, his large blue hands framing her delicate pale face, and looked at her radiant expression. Not trusting himself to speak, he kissed her.

                Applause broke out all around the table. Amanda grinned crookedly at Jubilee when they finally broke off the kiss, and slid the ring on her finger. Under cover of the ensuing applause, she said, 'I'm going to get you for that."

                Jubilee grinned unrepentantly and hugged Amanda. "Don't tally it all up yet,' she said cheerfully. "We girls are planning your wedding."

                "Oh, no!" Amanda looked horrified first at Jubilee, then at Betsy. They laughed, and set back to eat.

                She was sitting on Hank's bed after dinner, examining the ring. Hank came in, saw her looking, and picked up the bag from his dresser. "Do you like it?' he asked her, sitting down.

                "I love it," she said quietly.

                Hank kissed her cheek. "Good. Here," he said, handing her the bag. She saw the name on the outside of the bag instantly, and looked at him wide-eyed.

                "Well, we missed your birthday," he shrugged by way of apology. "You were in the medlabs. I thought you might like a late birthday present."

                Amanda opened it all, speechless, and grinned. "Wait here," she said, and disappeared into her room. Five minutes later she appeared at the adjoining door, wearing a sheer black nightgown that left nothing to the imagination, and the diamond jewelry he had just given her. Her voice was huskily seductive. "Is this thanks enough?"

                Hank took Amanda in his arms and carried her to the bed. "It is indeed," he said into her ear.


	10. Marriage

Chapter 10:

                Amanda pulled the dress over her head, easing it over her still-sore shoulders. A quick tug at the zipper, a pull-down on the skirt (gently, of course, so as not to rip the delicate lace) and she stepped out of the fitting room.

                Betsy, Jubilee, Jean, Ororo, and Rogue all examined her critically as she came out. The dress was a simple but pretty affair of satin and lace; a satin underdress, with a sheer beige lace overlay, embroidered with seed pearls and cream-colored iridescent sequins. It came to just below Amanda's knees.

                "It's pretty," Jubilee said finally. "I like it."

                "Kinda too simple for me," Rogue tilted her head. "I think maybe somethin' a bit more heavily ornamented."

                Amanda shook her head stubbornly. "No," she said. "My first wedding dress was heavily ornamented. Look what happened to that marriage. And the one Bruce picked out for me was worse. I still have it, by the way; I'll show it to you when we get home." She fell silent, looking at herself in the mirror, then sighed. "Maybe you're right."

                Betsy elbowed Rogue in the ribs. "It's your wedding, Amanda. You have to be happy with the dress. If you like it, don't let any of us talk you out of it."

                Amanda turned, inspecting the dress critically, then said, "Will Hank like it, do you think?"

                Jubilee snorted. "Amanda, if you shaved your head and painted it green and walked down the aisle naked he'd still like it. Hank doesn't care what you look like."

                Amanda sighed and plopped down in a chair in front of the mirror, wrinkled her nose, and said, "Eww. Look how it kind of bunches up when I sit. I'll look fat." She got up and went back into the fitting room.

                Jean sighed. "She's never going to find a dress at this rate."

                Amanda came out of the fitting room moments later, holding an armful of beige cloth, and disappeared into the racks, putting the dresses back where she had gotten them. The other women followed her out of the bridal shop, and they all got back in the van.

                "Where's the next stop?" Jubilee asked cheerfully.

                "There's only one more shop," Amanda sighed. "'Formal Affairs', on Thirty-second."

                "What about 'The Bridal Mall'? That's where I got my dress," Jean suggested.

                Amanda looked wistful. "It's a little out of my price range, I'm afraid," she blushed. She was still self-conscious about the class difference between the others and herself.

                The others all exchanged glances, then Jean sent out a mental thread to Ororo, who was driving. **'Ro, can we stop there?**

                _Certainly,_ Ororo thought._ As large as the place is, Amanda should be able to find something there. _

                **I brought my credit cards,** Jean said. **And Charles told me—privately, of course—that if Amanda found something she liked, we were to feel free to use his if she couldn't afford it. He didn't want to see her wearing something she didn't like for the biggest day of her life.**

                Amanda looked stunned when they pulled into the parking lot of the Bridal Mall. "I can't--" she started to say.

                Jean grinned. "Hey, sometimes they have nice dresses on sale here," she said as she picked up her purse and got out of the car. "Come on. At least take a look before we go anywhere else."

                Amanda got reluctantly out of the car, and walked into the store. And stopped. The store was huge! Racks of dresses, all the way back to the store, as far as she could see, grouped by color. White was the predominant color, but there was a considerable section of cream, eggshell, and beige also. She froze, and Jean laughed gently and pushed her over to the racks. "Go ahead, look,' she said. "And Amanda; don't worry about price. Find something you like."

                Amanda stuttered for a moment, suddenly realizing why they were here; but Jean just smiled and walked off with the other girls to look at the bridesmaids dresses.

                Amanda saw the perfect dress almost immediately. An empire-waist beige satin dress, with a draped yoke and skirt of some sheer material in the same color; there was cream-colored pearls and embroidery on the bodice and around the hem. The only problem was that it was off-the shoulder, and she wasn't so sure that off-the-shoulder would be appropriate for this time of year. Still, it was so pretty she wanted to try it on.

                She disappeared into the fitting room, slid the dress on, and came out. The hem of the dress was slightly longer in back than in front, and it trailed gracefully behind her as she walked. The skirt was a little on the long side; but if she got a decent pair of high heels it would be perfect.

                "Wow! Amanda, you look great!" Jubilee gushed as the other women came up.

                Amanda looked doubtful. "Really? I mean, it's a long dress, and it's off the shoulder, and I'm not sure that that's appropriate for an afternoon wedding…"

                Jean walked around her, inspecting the dress critically. "It looks fine," she said. "And you've got nice smooth shoulders; it'll show off your figure well. Amanda, if you like it, get it."

                Amanda squeezed her eyes closed as she reached for the tag. She gingerly cracked one eye open and looked at the tag, then closed it again. The dress was going to take most of the rest of her savings.

                She stopped. Wasn't Hank worth it? She was going to be married to him for the rest of her life; she could splurge a little and spend a lot on the first wedding dress she'd ever bought that she actually liked. 

                "Okay," she sighed.

                They went over to the shoes, searching for something that would look good with the dress and be the right height. Amanda tried on what felt like a dozen pairs until she saw one, sitting in the sale bin, that caught her eye. They were beige satin sandals, open-toed, with a strap that wrapped around her ankle. She grinned happily as she tried it on. "I love these," she said happily. 

                The guys stared, openly curious, as the girls took the large garment bag and shoebox up to Amanda's room, but Jean scolded Warren when he tried to grab the dress bag. "Stop that, Warren! You're not allowed to see the bride until the wedding day!"

                Amanda had decided to have an informal wedding, which meant that the others would be free to wear what they wanted. Jean had chosen to wear the mint-green dress she had worn for Jubilee's wedding, but Betsy, Ororo, and Jubilee had chosen different dresses; Ororo's in a soft gray chiffon, Betsy in a pale lavender that looked lovely against her dusky hair, and Jubilee in a light lemon yellow.

                "I don't want anything really complicated," Amanda said. "Just a quiet pledging with our friends."

                Jubilee sat back in her chair and laughed. "You know, that's what Logan and I thought we wanted," she said. "Unfortunately, when you're one of the X-Men, weddings are never simple. And Hank's wedding is going to be somewhat more complicated, since he has so many friends who are going to want to come."

                "How many?"

                Jubilee started to tick off names on her fingers. "Let's see, there's us; Jean, Scott, Logan, Ororo, Warren, Betsy, Remy, Rogue, me, and Charles--" she ran out of fingers.

                Betsy took up the count. "All the Avengers, Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, and Moira--"

                "And X-Factor; Alex, Lorna, Sam, and all of them, and then X-Force; Nate, Dom, Theresa, Rahne, Shatterstar, Boomer, and--"

                Amanda held up a hand, looking dazed. "All thosepeople? I had no idea hank was so….well-connected."

                Jubilee's eyes twinkled. "Professor Cohen and Claudia, from Columbia, want to come too. And your mother--" she sobered. "We got n Email back form your father. I'm sorry, Amanda, he…won't be coming…"

                Amanda shrugged. "I expected as much," she said, but went quiet after that.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                She lay a long time later, swirling the fur around on Hank's chest, watching the perspiration dry on his blue fur as they calmed down from their nightly activity. "Hank?" she said lazily.

                "Yes, beloved?"

                She smiled. "I love it when you call me that," she said. "It seems sort of melodramatic, but it seems right, somehow."

                "It's not melodramatic, beloved," Hank said quietly, capturing her hand in his. "It is simply your name."

                "Huh?" she twisted to look up at him.

                "Amanda. In Latin, your name means 'beloved' or 'one worthy of great love'. You did not know?"

                She shook her head as she laid her head down on his chest. "I didn't," she said. "Sheesh. No wonder you love me so much."

                She felt a minor earthquake rumble through his chest. His laughter. She loved listening to it rumble around in his chest. "I do not love you for your name, beloved," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "I love you for who you are, name or not. If your name were, say, Cassandra, I would still love you." Another earthquake, this one about a five on the Richter scale. "Although I would have misgivings about the eventual fate of our marriage were you to say anything prophetic at the wedding."

                Amanda laughed, having seen a commercial on TV that afternoon about the meaning of the name. "Prophet of doom, yes," she said, turning so she could look up at his face. "Hank? Speaking of weddings…do we really need all those people at the wedding? I mean, I know they're your friends, and Warren's been telling me everyone can't wait to meet us, but do we really need all those people?"

                "You're right," Hank said with a soft chuckle. "Let's go to the courthouse tomorrow."

                Amanda sat bolt upright in bed. "You're joking."

                Hank sat up too. "I am being perfectly serious, Amanda," he said. "I dislike having such a fuss made over our impending nuptials; but I believed that was what you wanted, so I left it up to you. If you truly want to skip the ceremony, then we can go and 'get hitched' as Warren put it, tomorrow."

                Amanda sighed and sat back. "It is tempting, but no. I would like to meet your friends. Let's go on as planned."

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Hank looked down at the lovely young woman clinging to his arm, and patted her hand gently. "It is almost over, Amanda," he said gently as another camera went off in front of them. "The guests will be leaving, soon, and we can retire--"

                "To celebrate?" Amanda raised a lascivious eyebrow. "I can't wait to get you in the bedroom, Mr. Henry McCoy…"

                "Nor I you, Mrs. Henry McCoy." They kissed for what seemed to be the millionth time that day, disregarding the flashing of camera flashes all around them. They broke it off at the sound of a small, discreet cough behind them.

"I have not yet presented you with your wedding gift," Xavier said, pushing his wheelchair over the lawn. In deference to Professor Cohen and some of the other human guests, he was in the regular chair. 

He held out a fat envelope. Hank took it, looking mystified, and opened it. Amanda saw what it was first, and gasped. 

"Two airline tickets to Hawaii," Xavier said, pleased, "And some spending money. Reservations are already made for you at one of the honeymoon resorts at Waikiki Beach. Enjoy your honeymoon."

Hank clutched at the envelope. "Thank you," he said finally, unable to think of anything else to say.

Amanda was a bit more effusive. She flung her arms around Xavier, squeezing him tightly. "Oh, wow," she said happily. 'That's got to be the best gift I've ever gotten from anyone."

"If you check your tickets, I believe your flight leaves in an hour, so you might want to get going," Xavier said, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh my gosh! I have to--"

"Pack?" Jubilee put down two suitcases on the lawn before her, and a second later, Warren did the same. "We did it for you. Don't worry, everything you need is there. If I left anything out, you can buy what you need. Now scoot on up and get out of the dress; you can't walk through the airport in a wedding dress!"

Amanda laughed in delight and ran up to the mansion to change, Hank following.

*                                                              *                                                              *

Author's Notes:

Okay, that's it for this book. I will start on the third book as soon as I finish 'Secrets and Shadows'.

                Well, come on, you didn't think I was going to leave you all hanging there, right? Amanda has to get her wings back, because I hate sad endings (okay, so this is kind of a happy-sad one), the _tepui _is being destroyed, so guess how Magneto's going to get more samples of the virus to infect the rest of the normal humans on earth? And what will Frank and the rest of the FOH (and Bruce, too) do when Magneto unleashes the virus on the world? And most important, are Amanda and Hank going to live 'happily ever after'?

                Have an apology to make. I was just beginning to write this book when I had a really weird dream one night, and from that came the idea for 'Secrets and Shadows'. The idea was bugging me; I had to get it out of my head and onto paper, (or in this case, computer) so I just started to write. It must have come as a surprise to the regular readers of my stuff, because I didn't write any teasers for it in the end of my last book. I actually didn't expect it to get as many reviews as it did; I expected that the story was going to go largely unnoticed, and that what I did get for it was going to be largely critical.

                Boy, was I ever wrong! So I continued writing. I would write a chapter for 'Forced Mutations 2' in the morning, break for lunch, write a chapter for 'Secrets and Shadows' in the afternoon, then toss all the day's work up around five in the afternoon right before dinner. Well, I thought I could finish both books at once. I was wrong about that too. I simply can't write two chapters a day for two different books; there's not enough time in the day to do that with the holidays, two boys (my youngest just learned to sit up and my oldest just learned how to climb into and fall out of his crib) and my husband working holiday hours at his job and coming home at one in the morning (and having to make dinner for him at one in the morning, too!) The long and short of this is that I would go to bed around three, wake up at seven, make breakfast, sit down at nine, type whatever came into my head until noon, then make lunch, see my hubby off to work, type till four, download everything, fix dinner for the kids at five, get them bathed and dressed for bed, read their nightly story, then sit down and write again from ten until twelve thirty. Then get up and fix hubby's dinner at one, do dishes after that, and go to bed around three. There's simply not enough time to do all that and not skimp on something.

                I apologize to everyone who was starting to expect a new chapter each day for each book; I promise I'll never try to do this again. Sorry!

                Thanks for all the reviews, and I hope I'll see you all for the next book!

Sincerely,

Jaenelle Angelline

                See you all for the next book!


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